#it's mermay every day in my heart

[thelongestwalk]

i'm probably not going to get this done before mermay ends so here's another wip from my sam/antiope the little mermaid AU

[my-writings-and-musings]

Oh, I have an idea for a Mermay! If you would like to write it: merformers Megatron being tangled in a net or something and the waves threw him on the beach and he can't go back to water. When the (gn) reader finds him he's scared that they will use his vulnerable moment to hurt him but they go like: "Wow! You're gorgeous! Oh! And you need my help!" And they help untangle him and roll him back to the sea. What do you think?

Absolutely! Mermay may have passed but I'll still be answering these asks because I'm slow, so don't worry if you left any but I haven't answered yet! Also feel free to leave more as it turns out I really like writing merbots!

Apologies for the low writing volume as of late, the hits just keep on coming, and with my area of the country taking wildfire smoke I swear thinking has never felt more difficult...

Megatron was certain he was done for.

He should have known his fate was sealed the moment the harpoon had pierced his side, especially with the weight of a powerful net dragging on his every move and tangling his limbs the more he struggled, but he'd dared to hope he had a chance after managing to swim away. It was only when exhaustion had allowed the waves to force him to shore, his colossal frame crashing against the rocks in a heap so tangled he was effectively immobilized, that he had accepted the inevitable. All the weary old mech could hope for now was to be finished off by the harpoon before he was discovered by those who'd wounded him.

Memories of a long, violent life played before his optics as the waters receded and the stars began to fade with the arrival of the day, the cries of seagulls growing louder as they woke to feed and curiously circled overhead. It wasn't the end he'd wanted, but it also didn't surprise him in the slightest. He'd never been able to find peace, as the scars across his frame could attest, so he could have predicted his spark extinguishing under such painful circumstances. Perhaps the Allspark would finally allow him to rest...

He was so exhausted he barely heard the soft patter of bare feet approaching over stone and sand. 

You had been hoping to find treasures from the sea along the rocky shore when you'd woken up well before the crack of dawn, but as you approached the massive unknown thing that had washed up overnight, you couldn't have prepared for what greeted the beam from your flashlight. Silver armor tangled within the heaviest netting you'd ever seen was all you could make out at first, but more careful observations revealed a fluke the size of a large tree trunk, atop which you found a massive metal torso with its limbs bound at the front. Your heart hammered as you approached despite your better judgment, some unspeakable instinct telling you that the being before you was in a great deal of pain. You realized you were beholding a real live Thalassicon the moment your light found his face and he opened a pair of brilliant red optics, their pale iris constricting then dilating as they focused on your eyes. Fear reflected between the both of you in equal measure.

When he returned to his prone position as if to surrender without a fight, you caught a wince of pain and a pink glow along his side, which brought your eyes and the flashlight beam to a massive harpoon jutting from behind his arm. Instinctive concern welled up within you, and the haggard breaths from his vents made you certain he was enduring a great deal of agony despite his calm appearance. No amount of common sense could compel you to leave anyone to so much suffering. Coming round to his head, you aimed the flashlight to the ground so as not to strain his optics. 

"Do you... need help?" you asked uncertainly, not sure how to better phrase the question. 

He looked back at you, making a sound like a strained scoff of disbelief. His voice rumbled like a heavy wave rolling over a rocky shore as he rested his helm against the stone. "Would it matter if I did?"

"I... think so? Because I can probably help you out a bit." you said, getting a bit more of a hold over yourself. It seemed likely that you could help him escape the net, but you were going to need him to work with you, and even if he'd given up you weren't about to just let him die. Loving the ocean extended to everything living within, and that included Thalassicons, as alien to the planet as they may have been. Reaching for the tiny toolkit you kept in your bag, you were surprised when the production of a small knife made the mech tense in alarm.

"Why are you here? Are more of you coming?" he asked with his full attention on the little blade. It wasn't enough to do more than cause him a minor bit of harm, but as he'd already endured plenty of that, he had no interest in letting blind trust cost him an optic. You seemed surprised and confused by the question, which ironically made him trust that you weren't planning any harm. Humans had never bothered to feign kindness for him anyway.

"There might be more people coming once the sun actually comes up, but I tend to be the only one up this early." you explained, trying to answer the question as best you could. The answer made him tilt his helm and raise a brow, compelling you to elaborate further. "Now's the best time to collect shells. The tide is going out, but no one else is up yet. Anyway, I just got this knife, let me see if it's sharp enough to cut you free."

"You're very trusting. Are you not afraid of my kind?" he asked before you could begin, giving you a bit of pause. The whole situation was odd, but you were quite perplexed as to why this very obviously struggling bot would try so hard to convince you not to help him. It only made you all the more determined to help, but it seemed you would need to convince him not only of your intentions, but to work with you to save himself. 

"I've never actually met a Thalassicon before, but you all don't seem to start fights with humans most of the time." you said as you put the flashlight down and aimed it over where you'd be working. Dropping to your knees but keeping a final foot of space between you both, you held up your tiny knife and gestured to his tangled limbs, certain you could work at least one free with enough cutting. "If I help you get your arms free, can you pull yourself out of this net?"

Still burnt out on hope, Megatron didn't dare to believe he was really getting out of this situation, but decided he had nothing better to do than play along. Even if you were some kind of government agent playing a long game, it was more interesting to see what your plan was than to wait to bleed to death. Flexing his arms to test the net's resistance, he found them folded against his front but otherwise unharmed, and while he was incapable of reaching the harpoon he had no doubt he could untangle himself if even one limb was freed. "Possibly." he conceded, remaining limp so that you could work.

"Worth a try, then." you said with a bit of inflated confidence, still unable to believe what you had gotten yourself into. Biting your lip and committing to your desire to help, you grabbed a random section of net and began to cut. Straight away you found progress to be definite but slow, the sharp blade taking its sweet time to carve through the reinforced material even as you pushed the sharpened edge down with all of your strength. "Ugh, this might take a second, these are some seriously thick ropes."

"Take all the time you need, I'm certainly not going anywhere." he replied with a sarcastic flop of his fluke against the stones, emphasizing his lack of options. You'd have possibly found it funny were you not carving through the stubborn netting with all of your strength, jaw set tight and brows furrowed in deep concentration as you looked for possible shortcuts. It wasn't like you had all the time in the world to cut him loose. The sun would soon be peeking over the horizon, and when it did you had no doubt that other humans would be coming to the beach, some of whom you couldn't trust not to sound the alarm. Many members of your species looked on his with open fear and boundless hostility.

"Hold on, if I'm able to tear this one... ouch!" you hissed as the knife nicked your palm, compelling on you to suck at the little cut before getting back to work. Your lack of hesitation to push on surprised him even more than your initial offer of aid, and for the first time he dared to believe you might be genuine in your desire to help. He could already feel his arm gaining wiggle room with every sliced rope, the heavy weight around his limbs needing only a little bit more of a reduction before he was confident his strength would prove sufficient to break free. Sweat had begun to bead on your forehead when you gave a growl of frustration and sliced through two more holes to free his arm. "Just one second, I've almost got it... there! Can you help me work your arm out?"

"Yes, one moment." he said, barely hiding the anticipation he couldn't suppress. Still mostly immobilized, he tried to work his arm free with a shift of his shoulders, only to receive a lightning bolt of pain as the harpoon was jostled by the movement. Roaring in agony, he went limp save for a full body shudder of pain, fresh energon flowing down his side. 

You jumped to help but pulled back when he hissed in instinctive fear, vents coming in hard and fast before the initial burst of pain began to fade and he calmed down. Looking around for potential witnesses with growing concern for the lack of time, you finally settled on the only thing you had resembling a plan, ignoring every bit of common sense you had saying it was a bad idea. "Would it help if that thing came out first?"

"It... it might. But I cannot reach it." he said weakly, once more feeling the urge to lie limp and allow fate to claim him. You'd proven an interesting diversion from his demise, but it was physically impossible for him to free himself. Between the restraint and the agony he felt when trying to move, there was nothing his great strength could do for him, and the steady flow of energon from his wound was taking even that away. Self repair couldn't initiate with the offending projectile still lodged under his armor.

"How deep is it? If it doesn't need too much of a pull, I can probably take it out." you offered, self preservation briefly taking a backseat to concern. It wasn't fair for anyone to suffer like this, and despite the danger you felt compelled to do whatever a squishy human body could to help. The Thalassicon stiffened at the suggestion, compelling you to drop to your knees and talk face to face to convince him you meant no harm. This wasn't something you could attempt without his full cooperation. "Do you trust me to do that?"

Megatron was silent as he eyed you up and down, looking for signs of the betrayal he'd been certain was coming but finding only earnest desperation in your face. It would be foolish to take you up on your offer considering his history with your kind, but with the harpoon scraping his insides during every ventilation, he was compelled once more to accept out of a lack of alternate options. All you could really do was help him, or end him that much quicker. 

"I cannot leave while it's there, I suppose I have little choice." he muttered bitterly, distrust coloring every word to make it apparent this wasn't a choice he enjoyed. It wasn't an enthusiastic assent, but you took it regardless, stepping back to try and figure out how to best approach the problem when the mech spoke up with far more force. A piercing look from his bright red optics made you flinch with each harsh syllable. "Just be quick about it, and know I will take you with me if you get any ideas."

"Okay. Fair enough. I'll climb on up, just hang tight." you conceded quickly, hands up in a brief gesture of surrender to show you understood. One thrash of his massive tail could easily turn you to paste, so you were equally serious in your promise not to try anything unexpected. Fully aware of his optics watching your every move, you climbed up his shoulder by using the net as a makeshift climbing aid and his armor as handholds, following the trail of bleeding energon until you arrived at his back.

When you stood up to face the harpoon for inspection, you were shocked to find it jutting out as far as you were tall, the heavy metal gleaming even in the darkness as if it was smelted from something unnatural. Ignoring the chill the weapon created in your gut, you angled your phone light to try and get a better idea of how to proceed. The sight of the ragged wound torn into his armor made you flinch in sympathy, and even without medical experience you could tell it had been yanked about as the mech had struggled against his attempted captors. The painful site left you stumped until you realized the roughness of the wound would actually work in your favor. Struggling hadn't just moved the harpoon, it had pulled it most of the way out, far enough that you were confident in your ability to pull it the rest of the way.

"I'll try to remove it as fast as I can, I'm sorry if this hurts." you said as you grabbed the frigid piece of metal, hoping you sounded confident just for his sake. All of him stiffened beneath you, but he made no further movements, remaining silent as you secured your grip and set your feet. 

"Okay. Here I go!" you announced as you sucked in a breath, clenching your shoulders before you pulled with all of your might. At first you felt nothing but his tremble of pain, which compelled you to square your jaw and lean backwards so your weight could assist, every ounce of your willpower pouring itself into the task at hand. After a few unproductive moments the harpoon slid an inch upwards, compelling you to double down until your knuckles paled and veins throbbed along your skin. The Thalassicon hissed when you felt something under the surface give way, and the weapon popped free of the wound in a single motion that sent you toppling backwards just as the mech arched his frame and roared in pain.

Soft sand met your back as you were thrown clear, the harpoon clattering over the stones as you sat up in a daze to find the mech tearing from the net and standing upright on his tail as he shredded the restraints with a growl and tossed the remains aside. The sudden show of motion was reassuring, but the sight of fresh energon running down his side made you fear you'd only made the situation much worse. "It's bleeding, did I make it worse?!"

Your words seemed to surprise him, almost as if he'd forgotten you were there in the rush, but he turned and gingerly probed the wound with much more freedom of movement than he'd had before. "No... It will clear itself and then my self repair will begin..." he explained, relaxing his mighty shoulders as the fact he'd be okay settled over you both. Now able to see the full extent of his size and strength, you felt even smaller as he dropped back down onto his front to speak to you, expression softening in relief and gratitude as he met your gaze. "Thank you. I would not have survived if that remained in my hide."

"Don't mention it." you replied breathlessly, surprising him once more as you made no attempt to request a reward for your services. Rather, you looked at him with concern, your eyes lingering on his injuries as you picked yourself up off the sand. "Are you... good to go? The beach will probably start to see its first visitors before long."

"I can see myself off. For your own sake, it is best you pretend we didn't meet." he answered quickly, pushing himself along the rocks until he came to the edge. For all of his desire to know more about the most peculiar human he'd ever met, it was better for both of you if he cleared out quickly. There was no telling what his attempted captors would do to those who aided him, and you didn't seem like the type to leave well enough alone even if your life was on the line. Knowing that didn't stop him from hesitating as he planned the best way to drop into the dark water below.

"Oh... okay." you said, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice. You'd come to the beach with the intention of finding some beautiful sea life, and while you'd succeeded, it was still hard to accept this one wouldn't be coming home with you. Unwilling to let him go straight away, you stalled with another glance at his injuries, hoping that even if you didn't see him again you would know he was safe out there. "Are you sure you're okay? That looks really bad."

"I have endured far worse, it will heal." he promised, already planning to seek out the deep sea supplies he knew would help him heal. Compared to what he'd suffered before at the hands of humans and bots alike, this was nothing now that he had the freedom to move and swim. The news made you smile, and his spark was so softened by your continued compassion he couldn't bear to leave without some show of gratitude. "Before I leave, allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Megatron."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N." you replied eagerly, wishing the first tendrils of the sunrise shining over the ocean would give you just a few more minutes. Unable to think of all you wanted to say, you ignored the hurt in your heart to bid him farewell, putting your wishes into words so they might come true. "I hope I can see you again sometime, under better circumstances."

"Perhaps, if fate allows. It would not be in your best interest, however." he replied much more sagely, swinging his tail over the edge but holding on with his upper arms. In the moments before he descended further, the position allowed the two of you to come face to face once more, and it was his turn to smile fondly as you bid him farewell.

"I don't really mind. Safe travels, Megatron."

[flusteredfools]

Only three days for this poll instead of a week; I feel it should be plenty of time for those who want to have a say! This poll is to let me know which order I should write the fics in and I'll stick to this plan until all four are finished; with the exception of random drabbles and MerMay (cause sometimes I'm slow OTZ)

So please vote for which you want to read first! Info snippets & chibi art below!

Oh and maybe reblog so more people can see & vote too 👉👈

Faeful Hearts II

The continuation for Faeful Hearts (which you can read part one here!)

This part focuses on what comes after the Artisan Y/n's marriage to Sun and Moon; little halfling Fae babies, their romance route taken with Fae Leader Eclipse and a bit more about what's going on since William's imprisonment. You'll learn more about Eclipse's past as well as what he hopes is his future (spoiler alert: his future is you).

We Can Serve You Better II

The continuation for We Can Serve You Better, Than They Can (which you can read part one here - but please note it is NSFW)

Congratulations your Royal Highness, your curse is broken and you've found your true loves! It's time to start working on that 'happily ever after' you've always read about in fairytales. Just because you're no longer cursed to feel lust every night doesn't mean you don't still end up that way now that Sir Moon and Sir Sun are more forward with their affections. You have a encounter with the very Sorcerer who placed the curse on you in the first place, but this time she gives you a gift for finding your true love(s) and breaking her curse; a gift that is nothing short of a miracle, a bundle of joy, love and happiness that the three of you thought would never be possible.

Summer Daze

(You can read the summary here or browse snippets/teasers on my blog)

Summer loving happens so fast! Specially when you fall head over heels for your camp counselor coworkers who start off not wanting you to work with them at all. Slowly you prove your worth and start to think it's all is smooth rowing from there...until another counselor comes by and rocks the boat, making your summer dreams ripped at the seams.

Naga'na Let You Go

Poor little Flaminglet runt Y/n becomes abandoned and fed to the snakes; more specifically, Naga Snakelets at Fazco's MegaZoo. They try their best to run and hide from the young Nagas, though they unknowingly hide away in two Naga's favorite 'secret base'. The two friends had never seen or heard of a Harpy before, though you've certainly have heard of the terrifying beasts that are Nagas. The young snakelets are quite curious, wanting to know everything they possibly can about you; not seeming to understand that they're what's causing you to be so distressed... From childhood friends to cross species lovers? At least that's what the Naga's are hoping for.

[izgnanik-a]

MerMay GhostSoap 6

// MDNI // read at your own risk //

All Johnny could do on his days off was think about the fish in the tank, and having to go back. There was an excitement to interacting with this thing he shouldn’t have even found. With stepping through the door and finding it waiting for him, triling at him, pleased as it ate its snacks.

He found himself filling his sketchbook with its likeness; it’s webbed hands, detailed tail he’d seen once or twice flipping out of the water when it leaned on the edge. Then there were the full images.

It’s reflective big eyes, gills, speckled skin, broad shoulders, fins, — everything about it should’ve been terrifying and impossible but it was real, tangible.

Johnny didn’t know how much longer he could continue to play this game of ‘is it safe or not’ with himself. He was contemplating quitting, but it didn’t feel right after building such a complex relationship towards this being.

He tried his best to be distant, but it got him a helpless stare as he sat at his desk and knocks against the glass that he just couldn’t ignore.

x

When Johnny headed back to work, back with another canned treat he began for his desk. “Honey, I’m home.” He joked as he set his things down. “I’ve got a ham and lettuce sandwich, extra Mayo. A fan favorite.” He listed as he emptied them out. “Can of grape soda. And canned sardines. Enough calcium and vitamin D to make your heart give out.”

“Sounds good.”

Johnny gave a frightened shout, crashing into the desk with the backs of his thighs as he turned. His hand stabilized on the desktop. “Sir- I didn’t-“

“See me?” Shepherd said as he stepped closer, having walked in after Johnny. “It’s evident by your actions.”

Johnny straightened himself out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What’re you doing here?”

“It’s my job to pop in every once in a while to make sure things are running smoothly. Is that a problem with you?” He asked, keeping his pointed gaze on Johnny.”

“Not at all sir. I would’ve,” he gestured, “brought you a sandwich if you did.” He joked.

Shepherd looked him over and folded his hands behind his back as he paced towards the security room. “How have things been?”

“Pretty smooth, if I’m being honest.” Johnny glanced to the empty tank and towards Shepherd worryingly. “Not a peep.”

“Would you be expecting one?”

“No. Not at all. It’s just a tank of water.”

Shepherd tapped at the security cameras.

The silence was making Johnny’s nerves worse. “I’ve met Garrick. He’s a good guy.”

“Have you?”

Johnny nodded, “Yeah. He told me about the last guy. I feel sorry for him.”

Shepherd turned to those words. “Did he now?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me the details, only that he was cleaning the tank and got hurt.”

Shepherd hummed interestingly, and gestured to the security cameras. “May I?”

Giving the illusion of releasing control was something Johnny was used to when it came to being under high command. But he played into it regardless. “Of course. It’s yours after all.”

When Shepherd turned away, all of Johnny deflated. He felt faint. He knew he shouldn’t have gone into the room, he shouldn’t have played with fire. Now he’s going to pay for it.

“I have an employee who I feel has been stealing from my company. I value honesty, so it hurts me to have to do this.” Shepherd said.

Johnny clenched his fist tightly. Here it comes.

“Bingo.”

“Sir-“

Shepherd turned to Johnny.

On the screen sat another employee, a separate camera from outside of the ones he’d been assigned appeared. A hand shoved into a pocket.

Johnny froze up.

“Yes?”

Johnny sputtered. “I think that’s absolutely wrong of them.” He nodded. “I think they should have a stern talking to.”

Shepherd scoffed. “I’m not a talking guy. I’m more of a taking actions type.” He insisted as he exited the screen to the usual monitors. “Thank you for your time. Enjoy your lunch.”

Johnny gave a mock salute and watched Shepherd move for the door.

“I’ll be dropping in again soon.” He warned.

“I’ll keep a sandwich for you.” Johnny remarked as he got through the doors.

The moment they closed, he deflated into his desk seat with his face down on the tabletop. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

What if Shepherd found out about him snooping around and feeding his science experiment? He’d be on the chopping block too. He needed to distance himself, ignore the tapping on the glass, ignore the stares through the dark water.

As if to test his strength, a noise surfaced from the glass tank in front of him. When he didn’t lift his head from the desk, it came again, a little persistent this time.

“I can’t get caught.” He whispered to himself.

The tap came again. Heavier.

Johnny lifted his head to see the fishman with its hands pressed up against the glass, blowing bubbles in excitement to seeing him again. Its skin seemed to pulse, a detail he’d only just realized a few days prior when sketching it. Johnny felt like he could hear the excited purr through the window.

“I have to wait.” Johnny said.

The fishman only swam up and when Johnny didn’t move, he could see it appear upside down from the ceiling at him.

“Shepherd’s probably still here. I can’t.”

The fish came back to the bottom of the tank, huddling at eye level, tail wrapped around itself as it perched like an idling cat. When Johnny’s eyes would trail away from it for too long, it’d move or knock to bring his attention back up. To remind him to bring it treats.

Johnny eventually took out his sketchbook, occupying himself with doodling along the edges before glancing to the tank.

Pressed up against the glass, the back of the creature sat in clear view. Johnny hadn’t realize it before but he could see scarring all along its spine. Dragged from its humanoid ribs to its hipbones, he could see a gnarly darkened scar and other jagged dots that resembled exit wounds. Its bioluminescent scales faded into the scars, making it harder to see if it did stop at just its hip.

Johnny got up carefully, getting as close as to press his hand up against the glass. He glanced up towards its shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t be spotted as he inched down its body to scour for minuscule details.

Its fin, a strong muscle that kept it afloat as well as propelled it from the water, was tattered at the edges but still functional. It gave reflective flickers against the overhead lights, and gently swayed to the flush of breath presumed to come from the beast. The fish tail was thick, adorned with sea moss and covered in a soft layer of algae, Johnny watched it pulse and then fade again in spurts.

Along its back, he drew lines against the glass, curving up its spine to the back of its neck. He looked at the side of its face as he sat up. He tapped the tip of his finger against the glass.

Frightened, the fish looked up at him and swam out of its relaxed state above Johnny before realizing who it was. It came back upside down, putting a webbed hand on the bottom of the tank to keep from falling further.

“You want your treat?”

Johnny could see the gills and fins on its face chatter, an excited cloud of bubbles fluttering upward. Johnny smiled and grabbed his lunch box. Slipping through the door and chalking open the door upstairs, he found the fishman waiting on the ledge.

When he shut the door behind him, he heard a crash of water before looking to see the fish diving in, only to leap out of the water, and back in again. It came to the surface as he unzipped his bag, grabbing the can.

The beast chirped, staring at Johnny’s hands and wobbled back and forth as it pushed up on its hands to hoist itself out of the water at Johnny’s side.

“Woah. Easy, big guy.” Johnny put his hand out to still it. “Wait.”

It clap its tail against the concrete, holding a hand out up at him.

“Wait. Okay?” Johnny stepped back and it only inched closer desperately. The crack of the can only made it trill louder, as loud as a running mower. It made Johnny feel giddy. “Okay. You want some?” He fished for a sardine tail, and put it into the awaiting hand of the fish.

Johnny expected it to dive back into the water and come back up for more when it was ready, but the fishman ate everything but the bones and tail before turning its attention back on him.

“You’re not going to hide anymore?” Johnny questioned as he held up another sardine.

And again, it didn’t swim off.

“Huh.” Johnny wondered as he sat carefully on the step up to the door.

It had only taken a few cans of fishy creatures for the weird fishman to consider him a good source of obtaining food, because Johnny doubted that it understood the concept of friend. Maybe community existed in its world, but Johnny knew nothing of this thing before him. Only that it was here, and not where it belonged.

The beast held out its hand again, and Johnny indulged it.

“I wonder if there are others out there like you. Where you came from. I wonder if they’re just as friendly as you are.”

It held its empty hand out.

“Unless there’s food, then you’re food aggressive.” Johnny remarked.

He watched it meticulously work around the bones of the fish, and when it would catch one in its teeth, it’d reach for it and remove it between webbed fingers. It was human in theory.

“But you’re a good thing. Strange. But good.”

The fish held its hand out.

“Last one, then I have no more.” Johnny stated, holding the sardine by its tail before slipping it into the awaiting palm of the fish.

Johnny leaned forward to clean out the can before discarding it into his plastic zip bag to keep the smell from staining his lunch bag.

The fish stared at him, smacking it lips, and pointed to the lunch box.

“I’ve got nothing else. If I give you my lunch, I got nothing for myself. No more.”

It knew the words no more because Johnny had said it plenty times when the fish pointed at his empty can. It didn’t like the words no more. Like a stubborn brat, it pointed to his bag again.

“No more. I have nothing.”

It leaned its fishy face in Johnny’s and sniffed at him.

Johnny tilted his body away. “I’ve got nothing, you bag of rocks.” He insisted, brushing a hand across its wet collar to ease it back. Despite a fit guy, this thing was something else with strengths.

It was unmoved by Johnny’s hand. It only seemed to trill curiously some more.

Johnny looked at it as it beamed up at him, but he felt like he was challenging it to a fight, like staring a cat in the face. “I have no more for you. So you can just get back in your tank.” Johnny waved his hand aside.

Its face in Johnny’s, it gave soft clicks from its throat. Tilting its head at him curiously, it laid a hand close to his thigh on the concrete steps.

Johnny felt like he was cornered despite the whole room to his side. He felt like he was being sized up for a meal, he shut his eyes and tucked his chin down to his chest. “If you plan on eating me for dinner, at least leave my face for last. I don’t want to feel it being shredded to bits while I’m alive.”

And the fish got up close to his cheek before the slippery slide of its skin dragged against his. Cheek to cheek, like a preening cat, Johnny endured the fish’s content physical contact. It dragged its cheek against his cheek to his neck, even through his hair and down his nape.

Johnny felt like he was being courted in some odd way. “This is definitely pleasant for me as it is for you.” He deadpanned. When he titled his head back from the salt water assault, he opened up even more rubbing against his skin.

To the creature, he was warm and smelt of fish. Johnny was a supplier of its favorite delicacies, always coming to fetch dinner. Though he didn’t bother with the rest of the courting process, the fish saw it as a good opportunity to make this creature know it was interested.

Johnny grimaced and found himself laughing uncomfortably, and then laughing because it was almost too much, as the fish nosed at his throat. He felt like he should be cautious that such a beast was tucked against a big part of his life force, but he could only laugh as he felt chills of the ticklishness run down his spine.

“Okay. Okay.” Johnny tucked his chin down, bringing his shoulder up to deny the fish access to his neck any further. “No more. I’ll be taking showers for the rest of the day to get this smell off.” He wiped his neck with his sleeve.

The fishman nuzzled against his chest, down to his lap before pulling itself to practically lay over his thighs.

“I need to-“

Whatever he needed to do was going to wait as the beast tucked a forearm under its head, and shut its eyes in his lap. Not only was it resting over him but against him, its tail absently twitched against the concrete at Johnny’s feet as it rested.

Johnny sat in awe at this moment. Something that was so foreign to him weeks ago was now cuddling into his lap like a kitten. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He hesitated to set it on the creature’s body, worried he’d frighten it again, but the gentle press of Johnny’s fingers at its nape made it twitch, but it didn’t run.

He gently soothed his fingertips into its moistened skin, down its spine to the scars along its back.

The noisy purr returned, vibrating against Johnny’s lap.

He reached the fading point of where humanoid skin met fishy tail, and ran his fingers along the scales. He held his breath as his touch made the tail more vibrant, its glow growing the louder it purred. He dragged his hands back up, counting the ribs along its side before getting up to its shoulders.

“How are you even real?” Johnny whispered in awe.

Next chapter coming soon! if you have any predictions, let me know what you think will happen in this fic. 🤔

fic masterlist

[emry-stars-art]

EDIT: PENCIL HAS BEEN REPLACED AND IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING AGAIN!! Thank you to those who donated, you have my ENTIRE heart for now and always

Hiii I’m back to bother you all again with technical difficulties. Long story short, if I have diagnosed the problem properly, I need a new Apple Pencil! And if I’m wrong I’ll need to replace both my pencil and the iPad itself!! But (and I am sure this will surprise no one that’s read this far) - I have no money 🥲

This isn’t quite a 100% necessary expense. I still have a handful of job applications sent out that are still waiting on replies, and hopefully I’ll have some more income sooner rather than later - but since comms and art have been one of my main sources of income this year, this is gonna be a decent problem for a little bit 😅 in the meantime I’m going to reach into the void and boost some stuff and offer additional ways that maybe I can earn some money for the month!

So if you do happen to have extra cash, some ways that would help a ton: my patreon (this month’s star tier sticker is going to be an aftg mermay design of some sort or another), my etsy, my kofi shop, or plain old kofi donations. But I also wanna be able to sweeten the pot a little, so there’s more!

I’m selling a couple original pieces over on kofi as well, including Raven Kevin, the Jean & Jeremy piece, and the og mermay comic from last year 👀

I’m taking low-stakes sketch commissions, also on kofi! For 15usd you can drop an aftg/tsc sketch request, and if you want to be tagged when I post it, leave your url as well! Additional characters for a little extra, and you can drop specific reqs - give me thoughts, ideas, meme redraws, outfits, or ask for a specific scene or specific au of mine (sure is a good month for mermaids 👀). I’d also take requests of my own ocs, but unfortunately for these kinds of sketch requests I won’t be taking others ocs.

All that being said, of course I understand if donating isn’t possible for you rn, so I’m not trying to make you feel guilty about scrolling past lol. If you’d like something free to do you can also just leave a nice comment or tag on something I’ve drawn to get my mind off the issues 😅 thank you so much to all you lovely people who support me in every way, it’s literally my livelihood and makes me so happy every day to make you happy, so! I hope you all have a wonderful time zone, and I hope you’re as excited for more merms as I am 😌💕

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Seventeen]

My lame excuse is that in my heart it's still Mermay ��� I'm OSOSOSOSO SORRY FOR THE DELAY I hope you like it 😭

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea/---1.7K----SFW*

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You finally discover who cries at the bottom of the cliff, wishing that you would've never known.

Tags and CW: Implied Thalassophobia | Mentions of Death (Drowning) | Ghosts | Body Horror | Fluff <3

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr @ultimateslasherfan @beeblybub

Seventeen: And They Whispered 

Amidst the abyss he floated like a ghost, almost far enough for his silhouette to blend in with the water as if he were made of it. One of them. 

They, the ones with empty eyes whose heads tilted to the side, gills open in a perpetual inhale. Mocking defiance at your inability to belong to this world that called you so desperately. 

A congregation of death carved in grey, rubbery skin that once would’ve been smooth to the touch, now mapped with scars. Statues with piercing gazes collected at your figure, dying bubbles tearing out your throat.  

I won’t be one of them, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.  

Your lungs felt like collapsing, vision blurred with black dots of unconsciousness that blended in with the unsurmountable bottom of the sea that now opened like a gargantuan mouth ready to devour you whole.  

Or perhaps it had already done so, and this would be your intimate hell—like all those nightmares piled up, the same hollow pression in your chest. 

You’re already one, the abyss said to you in that old, unforgiving tone of a disappointed parent.  

Is that my mother? You thought. She’s waiting for me down here.  

 Darkness pulled you under, and you felt your being tethered in a limbo where you had forgotten where salvation was and where ruination. If it was even an exit here, because , the sea’s call was always going to be there, whispering you to come home.  

Home. Such a strange word slipping out your blue lips, that now flashed golden like the halo of an angel, the ray of sunshine penetrating this abyss for it to retreat until the moon hung again in the sky.  

Golden like Viktor’s eyes: a pair of twin stars showing you the way back. Like the lighthouse that blinked, bleeding beacon. How could the currents had made you travel so far. Forever pulling you toward Piltover, toward that damned coast that would see you die one day.  

But thanks to the light you saw Viktor’s silhouette, enveloped in a whirlpool—in the whirlpool by the cliffside—, kicking desperately against the hungry waves trying to sink him in. Underwater the sound traveled different; the incorporeal echo of something that could far away, or right next to you. Distorted, broken, almost.  

Yet you could hear your name, once the velvet-like, hushed tone of his voice tore in desperation. 

Your legs kicked, arms wading, trapped in formaldehyde like those specimens in Viktor’s underground office. The even blue tone of the ocean expanding toward the infinite, fingers stretched until your cold muscles started shaking, pale and… lifeless.  

You couldn’t feel Viktor’s pull once you barely brushed his ankle. Hands frantically searching hands, both freezing cold but solid. Real. He helped you break into the surface, and you swam with him hugged against your side, his forced breathing the only thing warming up your body.  

From this angle, the face of the cliff looked cruel, damaged. Spiky rocks raising above water like rabid teeth for the foam left behind by the waves incessantly slamming against the rock, wishing it could just bend already, that it would save it more pain. The suffering that came along with survival, now in the burning feeling of your lungs every time you inhaled, the strain in your flesh that denied to give another kick, another push toward the thin coastline. 

The rocks scrapped your knees, Viktor’s arms so ready to pull you back against him once you had fallen behind thanks to a treacherous current. 

“I won’t let you go,” he breathed, rosy cheeks from the cold. “Just a few more meters. Come on. Let’s swim in sync. One, two, three—” 

There is a point where the sound is so familiar to you, that your brain mutes it, as if to tell you that there are other things you must focus on. Now, the sound of clashing waves disappeared, still with foam slipping through your fingers like that mermaid blood from the legends. Replaced by wails.  

The cry of the cliff.  

You couldn’t help yourself, looking around for that plea that broke your heart and reverberated inside your bones like a curse. The ever-present reminder that you almost fall for it. 

Between the mossy rocks the shadows drew exaggerated angles and impossible forms, but you saw it clearly. The sketch of a human life— erased and deformed by the sea, just visible in the corner of your eye, huddled in one of the makeshift caves formed by the sea. 

A ragged ball of grey and green, with long, tangled hair falling down the hollow like a twisted rope, filled with debris and algae. White-porcelain, inhuman, swollen skin showing drowned limbs folded at the wrong directions. Between the tangles of hair, you saw a human face, dark mouth opened in a desperate wail and then falling into silence, black lips not closing properly as there’s black substance coming out from them.  

She was crying, her body perpetually damp and drowned that you couldn’t distinguish her tears. All lost to the sea.  

For a moment, you wondered if her tears were the one that made the seawater so salty, if somehow you were sailing in her sorrow, a curse that didn’t let you go away from her misery. Because misery liked to drag down everything and everyone at her feet.   

You clutched Viktor closer, between a scream and a sob trapped up your throat, threating to steal your breathing. Another wave crashing against you two, sinking you, its claws wishing to drag you toward the whirlpool mere meters away. 

When you passed by the cave in the wall, you felt her watch you. White scleras contrasting against the bleak dark hair framing her deformed, violented face where the rocks may had cut her when she fell. When she jumped. Now but covered in black moss as if she were part of the cliffside wall, too.  

I won’t be one of them, you reminded yourself, the grounding sensation of sand under your feet almost making you succumb to exhaustion. To the merciless gaze of all those who had fallen at this bottomless grave, to all those monsters you were still yet to see. 

You rose to the surface, wanting to tear the waves away and part the cursed, greedy sea. You had a promise to fulfill, carrying Viktor next to you in an almost limping manner.  

You’re already one, a new voice whispered, mixed with the horrific scream of the cliff—of this woman—with her voice chords broken, the ragged, uneven sound flowing much longer than it’ll be possible to. But it was, just as it was possible for you two to survive underwater for so long.  

“Viktor,” you called, voice sore and barely above a mutter. The sand absorbed your hand while you crawl your way up toward the edge of the cliff, hoping than in this corner either the vengeful ghost could reach you, either the crying woman. “Viktor…” 

Unresponsive, Viktor’s body felt like a rag atop your body. A puppet whose strings had cut too soon. With your shaky hands it was impossible to take his pulse, and the stupid cries didn’t make possible to lean down his mouth and hear if he still breathed.  

He looked so pale, yet you weren’t ready to give up so easily. You had promised to see him again, to save him. Whatever that meant.  

You weren’t letting the sea win. 

Your eyes fluttered close, pressing your ear against his chest, your fingertips above his upper lip to catch any sign of breath. Almost laying atop him. 

“Viktor…” you whispered, your voice breaking in a shaky whisper. Please don’t leave me. The lighthouse will feel so empty; and your house even bigger without the echo of your cane through the hallways. The house will stop having its heartbeat. “Please don’t leave me.” 

His lips were the brush of a feather against your fingers, gently saying your name.  

“Viktor!” you gasped, not even thinking twice to hug him, caging him under your body while he nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck.  

His hand soothed circles in your back, sweet nothings drowning the mournful sound you didn’t have to share with the woman today.  

“It’s you,” he mumbled, his blue lips barely opening to utter the words. Curved in the smallest, most precious of smiles.  

You leaned against him, golden eyes flashing with the vivid light of the beacon; rough fingertips cradling, memorizing every feature of your face.  

“It’s really you,” Viktor said, his breath drawing a mist cloud toward the sky. Gently, his fingers tipped your chin upwards. A silent question you were just as willing to answer.  

His lips were cold and dry, although the reason you shivered is another; for the sudden warmth running through your veins when your tongue meets his in a sheepish, slow dance that had yet to settle a rhythm.  

“It’s really me,” you couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling his lithe body under yours, pressed in all the correct places.  

Viktor cupped your cheek, elegant fingers carefully taking the rebels locks of hair to put them behind your ear in a swift motion, as if he had done this a million times before. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”  

With shaking arms, he incorporated in his forearms if only to reach your lips once again, soaking in the warmth starting to irradiate of your bodies, a shield from the upcoming cold dawn that already sketched the grey horizon. His hand held the back of your neck, fingers played with your scalp, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in this world of twisted wonders.  

“I saw who cries in the cliff at night,” you muttered, body cuddled against him in the makeshift cave. The sky was bleeding from another newborn day, making the waves rubies and burning coals. “She saw me. And I looked at her back.” 

Viktor hugged your waist, his hands resting on your hips. Your name was uttered so softly from his lips, and you were almost going to lost yourself in his voice, in his lips. But you couldn’t. You needed to say it.  

“She looks just like me.” 

[im-not-corrupted]

For my contribution to mermay, have the second chapter to like doves, falling to the currents aka my Mer!Hob fic! Read part one on Tumblr here or read the entire thing on ao3 here.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Merman!Hob, Human Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, the fantasy is very vague but like. mermaids., Dream of the Endless | Morpheus has Depression, Grief/Mourning, deals with the death of Orpheus, and Dream and Calliope's divorce, Brief suicidal ideation, Near Death Experiences, Drowning, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, POV Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Arranged Marriage, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Saves Hob Gadling, Developing Friendships

—————

He rests for a good week or so. Not out of any true desire to do so—every part of him wants desperately to return to the beach, to see if what he saw there was real, to see if the merman waits for him. A foolish desire, that; if he was real, then the fact that he even bothered to save Morpheus in the first place was a miracle in and of itself. There is no reason for him to wait for Morpheus's return, especially when Morpheus gave no indication he planned to go back.

No, he rests on the orders of Unity Kincaid, the doctor who took one look at him upon his return to the palace and demanded he take some time to recover. At this point, he had yet to see his parents. Whether they had been alerted to either his survival or his arrival at the palace, he didn’t know. He also didn’t particularly care, and still doesn’t—their disappointed glances, the sternness in their faces during their last conversation, remains all too easy to recall. While he is still so exhausted, and questions his sanity just a little more whenever somebody tells him that his survival is a miracle as he only just manages to stop himself from mentioning his fish-tailed saviour, he doesn't want to see them.

Not only because he does not want to deal with their disappointment yet again, but also because he does not want to talk to them about the prospect of marriage again. Somehow, the two of them saw fit to bring it up before he left for Orpheus's funeral. It is your duty as prince to this kingdom, his mother had snapped at him. You failed with Princess Calliope. No matter. You may take another bride from a neighbouring kingdom and strengthen our ties to them, or marry some Lady of our own kingdom.

He can't comprehend how they might see fit to bring this up while the loss of both his son and his wife remain unhealed wounds to his heart. And when they brought it up, he had been made both angry and ashamed—ashamed for failing, ashamed for being selfish enough to not want to marry some other lady for the sake of his duties, and angry that these things were demanded of him. He is the third son in line to the throne. The chances of him taking the throne are slim. He should not matter in the grand scheme of things, yet his parents seem insistent on holding him to duties he doesn't want to follow through with.

After Calliope, the idea of marriage...he can't do it. Perhaps in another three or four years, if his title truly does call for it. And with no true argument to make—his parents do not sympathise with his losses and don't seem to see them as a reason for disregarding his duties—he has no way to avoid any decision regarding such arrangements.

So he hears Unity's orders to rest and locks himself in his chambers, glad for the excuse to spend time to himself, and more than glad that he has yet to run into either his parents or the siblings he has a more rocky relationship with than the one he has with Telute, despite the way he desires to run out to that beach again, to see if the merman is there, to see if any of it had been real.

Chances are, it was all some elaborate hallucination. By the time he wakes up the next afternoon after finally laying down to rest after what feels like years but really couldn't have been more than half a day, surely—he still isn't sure how long he was unconscious for, and vows to ask Lucienne at some point—he is half-convinced that the merman, and whatever conversation the two held on that beach, were nothing more than a product of near-drowning, and perhaps heat stroke too. He has the sunburn to go with that particular hypothesis, and after waking initially, much of his skin is red and raw and painful. He refuses to move for a good while when he realises just what price he now has to pay for laying on that beach for so long, feeling utterly miserable.

Heat stroke, then. Yes. Hallucinations is not a symptom he associates with such a thing, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. He returns to Doctor Kincaid, who takes one look at his uncomfortable expression and too-red skin he knows will peel uncomfortably soon and hands him a salve she promises will help, then demands he returns to resting. He is not to overexert himself, after all, and he does exactly as she orders with minimal complaint. (The salve does help, a soothing chill that battles the fire of his skin. He makes a mental note to himself to thank the doctor the next time he sees her—which, he reckons, will not take too long. She has said already that she shall check on him soon.)

Despite dismissing the merman on the beach as an hallucination and dismissing it as simply too much time spent in the sun after near drowning, the urge to return to the beach remains, lurking under his skin with such determination he fears he may go mad with it, and is worsened every time he looks out to his large, ceiling-high windows that face the sea and remembers the way the sun caught on the golden flecks of the merman's eyes. His imagination has always been particularly strong—his parents have always expressed disappointment over this, tutting and telling him firmly that he should not ‘spend so much time with your head among the clouds, Morpheus’—but there are some things, he thinks, not even he can make up. That shade of gold, for example—he wracks his brain and yet cannot come up with a colour that feels remotely similar to what he saw that day. It does not feel right when he tries to replicate the way the merman looked at him inside his own head, like his eyes were twin suns of their own and had the same pull, the same power, as the one that hung high in their sky. He was awed at the sight of them on that beach, and there are some things even his imagination cannot come up with. 

Each time he finds himself staring out at the sea and wandering down this tangent, he forces himself away. The sea still looks beautiful despite the storm he witnessed, despite the fact that he's now all-too aware of just how much brutality lurks beneath the waves. He pushes away the memory of the merman’s voice—one of the few things he can remember clearly, which only further reinforces the idea that the afternoon he spent with him was nothing but a figment of his own mind—and stalks away from the windows, swallowing down guilt and letting it tear open his trachea on the way down. It has not even been six full months since Orpheus's death, since Calliope left him for letting their son die. Yet in his weakest moment, he had somehow allowed himself to imagine up the merman in all his beauty, sun-bright and lovely. It feels unfair to those he lost to dream up somebody so objectively lovely despite his strangeness, cruel to think of him instead of those he lost.

Acknowledging that does not make the desire to find the merman again any lesser, but the guilt is strong enough he closes the window so he cannot hear the waves of the sea crashing against the rocks of the cliff. And for a week, he busies himself with reading as he regains his strength and his sunburn begins to heal, his discomfort growing a bit less by the day. There are many books in his rooms. Many of them, he has read before. Some he returns to for some modicum of comfort and lets himself drown in the nostalgia and longing they bring up. Some have yet to be read at all, and there is a new stack of books on top of his desk that he's never seen before.

When he approaches them, he spots a note written on white parchment in neat, swooping cursive he knows to be Lucienne's hand resting on the leather-bound cover of the first book in the pile. He picks it up and reads it quickly, chest swelling with gratitude as he does so.

Your Highness,

I figured you may be in need of some new entertainment while condemned to bedrest, my Lord. I thought you may enjoy them, and that they may ease the weight on your shoulders for a time.

Yours, Lucienne.

He places the note back on his desk, making a quick mental note to thank her whenever he sees her next, and then takes the stack in his hands. He follows Unity's orders and rests, slowly making his way through Lucienne's stack of books, which ranged from awful, trashy romance novels he consumes regardless of their quality and heart-wrenching tragedies that leave him feeling a little hollow and terribly lost, and resolves not to think about the merman with golden eyes who called him pretty even when he sat on death’s door.

+++

Not thinking about him doesn't work. His memory follows Morpheus through his rest days and then longer. After a few days, that memory is one of the few things that lingers from his near-death experience. His throat still feels scratchy, but his chest hurts less. With enough sleep, the physical exhaustion leaves him. (Despite that, he still does not feel truly rested. Without the bone-deep exhaustion that demands he lay his head to a pillow and sleep for the next ten years, all that remains is the more metaphysical ache in his chest. It is all so much, grief and misery overwhelming him in equal measures. It drains him, but he is not physically tired, so his body does not allow him rest. After a couple days, when his body is better healed, he falls back into the patterns he fell into before his journey for Orpheus's funeral, and sleep becomes difficult for him once more. Each and every time he closes his eyes, he sees Orpheus's face in his mind's eye. It makes sleep difficult.) 

He is called to eat with his family the day his ordered bed rest ends, who express their sympathies for his "difficult journey" and do not say much else. He is grateful for that—his parents have never been particularly good at caring about any of their children, so he expects nothing else from them as he sits at the grand table and is brought food he hardly touches. It is better that they offer him sympathies they didn't truly mean than bring up marriage or alliances or any other number of horrid things they could possibly come up with.

So Morpheus sits in silence between his elder sister and younger sibling's chairs, avoids Telute's searching, worried glances, and simply listens. Nyx and Cronos speak only to ask questions of the others, falling silent when they lose interest, which happens quickly enough until either sibling mentions something that may tarnish the family's reputation. He does not mind sitting in silence—there is little he wishes  to say either way.

After years of family dinners, he knows exactly how these things go. As soon as he opens his mouth, his younger sibling, Epithuma, will say something to goad him until he either grows frustrated enough to snap back or leave. Both of those options earn him their parent's ire; it is the only reason Epithuma has ever decided to bother him so. Telute claims it is due to him paying them a lack of attention, but Morpheus does not believe that to be true. Though the two of them were close when they were younger—as close as Epithuma and Aponia were now—as they grew, his sibling developed a hatred for him he still does not understand the origins of. They needled him, caused chaos that ended only in disaster for him, and have made little effort to hide their dislike of him. He misses them vaguely, in the sense that he misses only what they once had but would be reluctant to return to it if given the opportunity.

Yes, it is best he remains silent. The events of the last few months serve only as ammunition in his sibling's mouth. He does not wish to hear their take on Calliope's leaving of him, nor does he wish for them to detail his obvious failures. Those he knows well and has already internalised. He has no doubt Epithuma will find the most scathing way to word such things. He does not wish to hear it.

He manages to get out of that family dinner with his sanity only just intact, and without inducing anybody's frustration of him. Their parents do not call him back, and make no effort to talk to him, so he slips back to his chambers with the intention of disappearing until he is called out next.

That is interrupted by Telute, who manages to clutch onto his arm as he walks away. The touch is abrupt enough to startle him and he spins around, more than a little panicked until he sees it is his dear sister. She smiles at him, but it is a tentative thing too full of concern for him to find any comfort in it. "I didn't mean to startle you, brother," she tells him, and frowns. "Did you not hear me calling you?"

He shakes his head, and pretends he doesn't see the way her lips tighten in displeasure. "Can I help you, sibling?" And then, because he had forgotten that she, too, had been on that ship with him, he asks quieter, "How are you faring?"

She blinks at him, and the guilt he has become far too acquainted with grows thorns, tearing at him. It is selfish of him, to have not thought of her sooner. To have not asked after her. “As well as can be, I suppose. Though I didn’t nearly drown, so I have that going for me. Are you well, brother?”

The abruptness to her voice startles him. He does not know how to answer and stands in front of her, floundering, trying desperately to grasp for something to say that might soothe her. It is a difficult task, and in the end all he can think of saying is, “I am tired, sister.”

That one sentence can mean a good many things. When Unity Kincaid checked over him, he said the same thing—I am tired. Only at that point, he was talking about physical exhaustion, about his desire to sleep and not wake for another ten years so his body might not feel weighed down by lead.

Telute’s face softens in a way that suggests she understands, or at least knows, which way he means it in. “Would you like to walk through the gardens with me?” she asks. “I could use the company.”

It does not sound pitying, the suggestion. In fact, it sounds honest. His sister wants to walk through the gardens for a while, and she wants him to keep her company.

It is that honesty, and the lack of pity, that makes him move from where he stands in the hallway, holding an arm out for her. She threads hers through his, linking their elbows together, and gives him a warm, lovely smile. It feels out of place, that smile. Too bright when every part of his mind seems to be swallowed by dark clouds.

He does not complain. Telute’s presence soothes some of the ache inside of him, and he cannot help but be grateful for that. The two of them didn’t talk very much on the way to Orpheus’s funeral. That, he knows, was his fault entirely. When words came to him these days—and they so rarely did, whatever part of him that found joy from engaging in conversation with people like Telute and Lucienne disappearing almost entirely, making talking far more effort than it is worth—they tend to come out sharp. Weapons he doesn’t intend to use, weapons he doesn’t know are there waiting to be used, and yet weapons all the same.

He knows, in his grief, that he has been…particularly awful, he supposes. He is aching, and wonders why everybody else doesn’t hurt with him. It seems unfair, but he is aware enough to know none of those he is close to deserve his ire. If anything, it is only he who does—he who is responsible for Orpheus’s death, who drove Calliope away. He resolves, as the two of them walk out into the gardens, to turn those weapons inwards. If he bleeds from their impact, then all the better. At least it would be he and not those who are innocent in this, whose intentions are only good.

All the while, Telute talks to him. He is grateful for that, for the fact that he needs not engage in conversation. With anybody else, with any of his other siblings, he would be expected to speak back. To truly talk, instead of remaining a silent, impassive companion, regardless of how difficult it has become to find the words he wants to say. (It feels ironic, that. When they were younger, Telute used to call him the Prince of Stories, in reference to his love for reading. He had penned his own books at the time, too, whenever he had a moment to spare, filling journals with his own stories that would never see the light of day. It was an escape from his duties, from the binds of his family, and he relied on this escape heavily. He did not anymore—his parents demanded he grow up, and he saw the logic in that.

Now, he cannot even take part in a conversation properly without feeling terribly drained. Oh, how the mighty do fall.)

Telute does not speak of anything of particular importance, but that hardly matters to him. He hangs onto every word he can, listening eagerly to the stories she paints. She talks of the efforts Lucienne and Jessamy went into finding him, how grateful she was that he was alive and well, how terrified she had been to see him fall overboard. She talks a little about her own duties, avoiding mention of Calliope and Orpheus all together. On occasion, she asks questions for him—small things that are easy to answer. Have you healed well? and Have you read anything particularly great yet? and Have you returned to Kincaid for another checkup?

He answers all of those with small, one word answers. She beams at him, unfazed by how little he talks, and he is so very grateful for her, more than he believes himself capable of expressing in words. Whatever he can come up with now would not do her justice, nor properly express his appreciation.

Eventually, they make it out to the gardens. He has not been here in quite some time—beautiful though they are, they are wrought with memories he wishes to stay away from. Though the gardens are tended by the palace staff—and well-tended to at that, Morpheus always thought Mervynn deserved a larger pay for how much work he put into making this place so lovely and keeping it so tidy—there is a whole section of those that, once upon a time, belonged to his sister Del.

They are still her gardens, only they belong to her memory now. She found her death at her own hand. Morpheus had been the one to find her corpse, laying in a pool of blood with her wrists slit, an expression upon her face that was far too peaceful for such a horrifying scene. Their parents covered it all up—There can be no weakness in the House of de Endeles, Nyx snapped when he had protested, and she did not even seem to grieve for her youngest daughter at all—and resolved to have these parts of the gardens remade in their image.

It would’ve erased any memory of her. It angered each of them, one of the few things that he and his siblings agreed on unanimously. They are all so different, with varying opinions. They clash, each and every one of them, with their own favourites among them.

That time, though, they grew angry and it bonded them, just for a time. Long enough to work on the garden themselves, keeping it alive as Delirium imagined. Long enough to keep tending to the flowers and bother everybody their parents hired long enough for them to forget their plans of redoing them.

Now, it remains just as beautiful. Delirium had an eye for colour, and no new flowers had been planted in this area of the gardens since her death. They wanted to make sure it remained the same, how she wanted it to be, and so her area of the gardens is a riot of colour against the green hedges and the paved stone floor. She had gotten her hands on rather beautiful exotic flowers he would not know the names of had he not played a part in keeping the gardens like this, all of them various shades of blues and reds and purples. Lovely and wonderful, almost hypnotising to look at. They caught the sunlight with soft petals and glowed, turning their faces towards the sun to catch the most of it.

Telute leads him to a bench in the corner and urges him to sit beside her. He does so, and finds himself enjoying this moment of peace. The air is sweet, heavy with the scent of flowers. A gentle breeze messes with his hair, a lover’s caress against his face, and he closes his eyes to relish in it. The sun blesses him with its warmth, generous in its love, and he soaks it all in. Here, for just a moment, he feels…alive. It has been a long while since he has felt as though he is truly alive, instead of simply existing.

“Talk to me, brother,” Telute asks him after a couple beats of silence. When he snaps out of his reverie and looks towards her, her expression is open, compassionate. He does not like it. He does not like the earnestness, nor the idea that she perceives him to be so weak she has to ask this of him. “I understand you have been through…a hard time recently. I loved Orpheus, and though  I was only his aunt, I miss him dearly. I cannot begin to fathom what you must be feeling, Morpheus. Only, I know you well, and I know you’re going to keep everything to yourself until you can no longer handle it. I do not want this for you.”

He clenches his jaw. Against his will, anger rises. She does not know. She does not understand the constant agony in his chest, the thorns of guilt curled around his heart and his stomach until he fears he will be sick with it, until he becomes convinced that the thorns have punctured his heart enough that he is bleeding out. What right does she have to claim to know him when he does not even know himself? When he finds himself completely unable to differentiate himself from his own grief and regret and his guilt?

Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps that is who he is now. Perhaps he is only a vessel for agony and grief, both his and Calliope’s. Perhaps he is nothing but a place to store anger at both the world and the circumstances surrounding Orpheus’s death, and whatever he had been previously had been burned away.

He hates the idea that he lost himself so easily. He hates the idea that he does not know who he is without the agony that holds his hand through every waking moment of every damn day. And he hates, more than anything, how he does not know how to erase this from himself.

Does he even want to? To erase the guilt, the grief, would be to erase Orpheus, too. And he wants to remember his son. He does not want to let go of him, of the child he tried his best to pour all of his love into. It simply wasn’t enough, and now he doesn’t want to let go of his regret, either. He deserves this, for driving Orpheus away. For pushing him towards tragedy, towards an early grave. If he is to let go of his grief, his guilt and regret, it would be the same as saying goodbye to one he doesn’t think he’d ever be ready to say goodbye to.

“I miss Orpheus,” he tells Telute honestly. He does not speak of the void in his chest, consuming anything that isn’t exhaustion. “I do not see the point of any of this without him.”

Between them, silence grows, until his sister offers, “I know you do, Dream. Only—only you are still alive. There is no use in dwelling on the past. Perhaps performing your duties may…help you. To get out of your own head.”

Morpheus fails to understand how marriage would aid him here. It seems the kind of thing that would only put every wound that has yet to heal in full-focus, something that might carve them deeper. “Is that your advice?” he asks, and doesn’t manage to keep the poison from his voice. Later, he will hope his sister forgives him for that, or at least doesn’t think about it too heavily. For now, all he thinks of is, There is no use dwelling on the past, as though the two of them did not stand atop a cliff before a headstone with the name Orpheus de Endeles engraved into it. As though his son is not dead, a fact that can never be changed or made better. “To focus on my duties?”

She grips his hand, holds it tightly in hers. Her skin is so much warmer than his. “I have struggled too, brother,” she tells him gently. The tenderness of it is agonising. He wants sharpness. He wants knives to dig deep and bury themselves in his chest and hurt like the rest of him. He does not deserve tenderness to soothe him, to make things easier. He killed his son. He deserves the pain of whatever she might possibly be able to say. “Not the same as you do now, of course. But I realised I’m here to serve them, to make things better by performing my duties and acting the part.”

His shoulders slump, defeat weighing them down. He has never been particularly good at this part. At ignoring the way playing the part grates on him, even if he has always been good at it. “Very well, sister,” he says softly. There is not much to say to that. There is not much to say to her at all, now.

She places her hand on his and squeezes it gently. No doubt it is meant to be comforting; all it reminds him of is the way his duties feel like a cage, closing in around him at all times.

+++

He gives in soon enough. His mind keeps straying, no matter how much he tries to take his sister’s advice to heart. And he does try, truly. Yet there is nothing to stop the way his thoughts eventually turn towards the man on the beach, the merman, a being that should not exist and might never have in the first place.

There is a possibility that he does exist, though. And that possibility, however small, combined with the burning curiosity, is enough to send him out of the castle a couple of days after the conversation with his sister. He takes his horse and races down to the beach he was found on—it is not too far. In fact, he is fortunate to have washed up on a beach inside his kingdom, let alone so close to the castle itself.

It is the first moment of peace he feels like he’s gotten since he was deemed well enough to stop resting. His mare is fast and the air stings at his face and rips strands of his hair from the tie he used to pull it back and it is lovely to be aware of something that isn’t everything he’s lost.

It is freeing, the short journey. His heart soars in his chest the further he gets from the castle and perhaps, even if this trip proved nothing about the existence of the being who saved him, he might do this more regularly. Even if it’s for a handful of hours, the time spent away from the castle will no doubt be invaluable.

When he reaches the beach, it is quiet. That makes sense. It is late, and the beach itself is far enough from any villages or towns that it makes the trip…not unneccesary, but longer. He is moved only by his curiosity, a thing that burns inside him, and the desire to find out if anything he saw when he woke up on this beach a couple of weeks later was real. Inside his head, he tells himself that is impossible—the merman was not real, because such things are only fantasy. Yet his curiosity is a thing of fire, catching quickly, and it has burned away most sense of logic or rationality.

He ties his horse at the top of the beach, deciding to make the rest of the way on foot. Not for any great reason—really, he does so only because he wants to feel the air on his face and the setting sun on his skin unhindered. There is joy to be found in wandering towards the edge of the sea until the waves lap at his boots, in letting himself close his eyes and simply feel.

He does not remember much of this beach, for his only time here had been spent waking up after near drowning. But it is just as beautiful as he remembers. The simple act of standing at the edge of the water with the cool wind brushing his hair like a lover’s caress settled something within him he can’t quite explain, let alone articulate. It allows him to simply—exist, he supposes, without expectation or anything of the sort.

When he finally opens his eyes, the sight before him is breathtaking, and entirely different to seeing the sea from his chambers at the top of his tower. The setting sun glistens against the waves, making them almost blinding to look at, and the sky is so clear. It stretches out for seemingly forever, further than he could ever possibly discover himself, and there is something beautiful in that. He wonders if this is what sailors must feel when they set out to sea—if that is what all travellers feel when they head out onto an open road, no rules or companions save those of nature. Do they, too, feel like if they were to only take one step forward, they would obtain some kind of freedom?

It is easy to imagine, there at the edge of the sea, that this may be the answer to all of his problems. His way out of marriage, of his duties to a crown that will never sit on his head yet continues to bind him anyway, to a throne akin to a noose about his neck.

There isn’t even any fear as he stares out at the waves. He thinks there should be. He thinks he should not look out at the sea and yearn, not after it nearly killed him. Not when he can still feel water in his lungs, in his throat, like an echo. He knows what rage the ocean can be inspired to in a mere few minutes—yet the tranquillity of it now remains alluring, a call to home.

He is so far into his own head that he is entirely unaware of another’s presence until a voice calls out to him, “You aren’t planning on walking in, I hope?”

He blinks. Instantly, the voice is familiar to him, and Morpheus spins around. Except—except the beach still remains empty, the only sign that anybody is there the footprints he himself had left behind when walking down to the sea.

Panic claws at his insides, because—because what if this is some kind of trick, what if there is somebody here who intends to hurt him? Though he knows he should not, he had left the palace without warning anybody. Not Telute, not Lucienne or Jessamy. If—if there is somehow somebody hiding from him, if he is to be hurt or injured here, he would not be found for some time. Not unless somebody stumbles upon him by happenstance, and even then that depends solely on whether his hypothetical attacker would leave his slowly cooling body there on the beach.

A laugh pierces the air. It does nothing to soothe the panic, the urge to run run run rushing through his veins. “In front of you, pretty one.”

Though it doesn’t make sense, he looks back towards the ocean. It is as beautiful as ever. It is only when he turns to his left that he—that he sees him. The merman from before, from when he had woken up on this beach weeks ago. He looks exactly the same—chestnut hair framing his face, golden eyes shining in the light of the sunset.

The panic disappears, replaced by something kinder. “It’s you," he breathes, and despite himself, he feels awe bloom behind his ribs.

A smile curves his lips upwards. It feels warm, joyful, and Morpheus thinks he may be addicted to that look already. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice. It is the same voice, he realises now. And he had called Morpheus pretty one. "And it’s you."

“You are real,” he says, and oh, what a miracle this is. What a wonder.

“As real as you are,” the merman says with a shrug. He’s still further in the sea than Morpheus is, and they call across the water at one another. “Though you still haven’t answered my question.”

“What—? Oh. Right. No, I wasn’t planning on…walking in,” he answers awkwardly. He stares out at the distance between them and does debate it for a while, if only to be close to the impossible creature he had been unable to stop himself from thinking about since returning to the castle. It would be easy to cross the distance, he supposes—and if he underestimates the shallowness of the waters his merman currently looks at him from, well, he can always save him again.

The idea is almost enough to make him laugh. Almost. It bubbles up and demands to be let out, but he shoves it down. It is simply the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, let alone the idea that he might be able to rely on a merman to save him should he drown again. It is the kind of idea that belongs more in fiction books than any reality Morpheus knows of, and yet.

And yet the merman smiles further and looks glad to hear his answer. Yet he is real. That, or the sea simply sends Morpheus insane. Both, he supposes, are options. “Good. I’d hate to have to fish you out of the water again.”

That, then, is a no to being saved if he were to accidentally drown again. It is enough to dissuade him entirely from the idea of stepping forward and closing the distance between the two of them, though it isn’t enough to stop him from wondering. If he were to touch his fingertips to the sun-tanned skin of the impossible creature before him, what would it feel like? Would the merman like it? Would Morpheus?

He thinks he would. He is, foolishly, rather enchanted by this beautiful creature in front of him. He also thinks the ability to touch the merman properly would also confirm whether he truly is going insane or not.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after a couple of moments. It is a worthwhile question, he thinks—the ocean is a large place. He had spent only a handful of weeks on its waves, but he knows he hardly got to see even most of it. There is simply so much of it, stretching out so far. Surely there are greater things for this merman to be doing than waiting around this beach.

“Waiting for you, obviously,” the merman says, as though that makes any amount of sense.

“…Why?”

“Well, I wanted to see if you’re alright, is all. You were pretty out of it when we talked. It’s nice to see you standing on your feet and aware.”

“Yes, it is a…vast improvement on how I was then,” Morpheus admits. He at least isn’t dying, which is definitely some progress. He’s still convinced he’s going insane, though. “But still. How did you know I would return?”

“I didn’t. Just kept checking the beach for a bit to see if you’d return, when I had time enough to do so.” He shrugs again, a little half-hearted thing that looks, bafflingly, almost self conscious. A self conscious merman. Alright. It’s certainly the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him personally, but he isn’t going to complain. “What are you doing here?”

“I…Same as you,” he says slowly. “I wanted to see you. Wanted to know if you are real, or if I just…imagined you.” He certainly looks like the kind of thing he might come up with in the quiet of his own mind. Like a dream, he thinks, and the thought is ironic enough it makes him chuckle quietly. “Didn’t expect to see you, though.”

He grins. His teeth look…sharper, Morpheus notices, than his own do. He wonders at that. “Like I said, I’m as real as you are. So, what? You wanted to find me just so you can make sure you aren’t going mad?”

“Something like that.” If he was going mad, his parents would not take it well. Would they contain him within the walls of the castle, in his bedroom, like they did for Delirium? Cover up his disappearance in court with rumours, hide the truth beneath lies? Tell the world that he has simply fallen ill? There is no room for weakness among them—if he was to go insane, it would be as good as his death. The fact that the merman before him is real is a comfort to him, one he finds himself incredibly grateful for. “Though I think I wouldn’t mind a conversation with you, too, if you’re amenable. I have never met a merman before.”

“Ah, so that is what you want.” The merman’s face visibly sours, a bitter note creeping into his voice. “Knowledge. Secrets. Is that it?”

“…No? Nothing that you don’t want to share, that is. Just want to—know you, I suppose. You can talk about whatever you wish.”

The merman raises a brow, as though he doesn’t quite believe Morpheus is being truthful. “I see. And what do I get in return?”

“The same as I. Conversation.” When all he is met with is silence, he offers an olive branch. He has little clue as to whether it will mean anything to the other, but—“My name is Morpheus. Morpheus de Endeless. Though those I am close to call me Dream.”

“Dream.” He says it as though he savours it, that one single word. It sounds wonderful in his voice. Morpheus wants to hear it again and again and again. “Yes. This makes sense. I am Hob.”

Hob. It isn’t quite the name he would’ve expected from a creature as impossible, as mysterious, as this one. He hardly cares. It has a charming quality to it, and it makes him smile. “Then it is nice to meet you, Hob.” He steps away from the water. Hob watches him with hawk’s eyes as he steps far enough away that his clothes will not get soaked by the waves, until he sits on the sand. It is wet sand, which he knows will present its own problem, but he decides he will deal with that later. Better than returning to the palace with his clothes soaked through with sea water, anyway.

After a moment, Hob creeps closer. He cuts through the water with breathtaking ease, which—makes sense. He sits in the shallow end of the water, so the waves still lap at his skin, but now Morpheus can now see his tail once more, with all its golden scales and delicate-looking fins.

“Would you tell me about yourself, Dream?” the merman asks of him. The request is startling. “I confess, I have always been…fascinated by the lives you lead on the land.”

He smiles, strangely glad for the request. The tide will come in properly soon, he knows that, but until then—until then, he may offer Hob a couple stories, and he need not go home until he has to. “Very well,” he agrees, and he clears his throat. For the first time in a while, words come easy to him.

+++

When he returns to the palace, the place he reluctantly refers to as home, he is…tired, but not terribly so. His throat is unpleasantly dry after so much talking—he cannot remember the last time he talked so much all at once. Not since Orpheus was young and still requested bedtime stories, surely, and that feels like an entire lifetime ago. The Morpheus of then is not the same Morpheus that exists now. Though he has only lived without his son for a mere few months, the difference is startling. He thinks of how he had been before—lighter, his smiles coming easier—and wonders how that had ever been him. Wonders if he might somehow return to who he had been once, though dismisses this thought almost immediately. If he returned to who he was then, it would be akin to forgetting Orpheus, wouldn’t it? If he didn’t hurt and ache, he would simply be forgetting his son, and he couldn’t do that.

But he talked to the merman, who seemed to hang onto every word, until Hob told him he had to leave. (He did not ask Hob to stay longer, but—but the merman requested he return to the same beach at the same time in seven days, and Morpheus is not immune to the hope that shines in the merman’s golden eyes. He crumbled under the look and agreed—not that he minds the idea of returning to see him. The very opposite, in fact. He thinks of the next week, of returning to the beach once more, and for the first time in a long while, he feels as though he has something to look forward to.) And the words came easy to him, the stories he told falling from his lips easily.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the merman is, effectively, a stranger. Hob knows nothing of his plight, of the way he suffered these last few months, of the way he so easily failed at his duty. There is little judgement Hob can give him if he does not know Morpheus, and for that, he is grateful.

He did not talk about himself. He avoided that. Hob did not complain, and so his stories revolved around his siblings and gossip from the palace he overheard. Sometimes, he talked about Orpheus—he mentioned not that Orpheus was his son, nor that he currently lies inside a coffin buried under the ground. Those two facts are irrelevant to the stories. Instead, he mentioned his son’s love for music, the way he had the ability to move anybody in his nearby vicinity to tears. He mentioned the way his son’s laugh had been infectious—a trait he gained from Calliope, of that Morpheus has no doubt, for his own laugh is something harsher, grating and ugly—and the fact that he cared, so deeply.

It felt good. It still feels good as he leads his horse to the palace, refusing to acknowledge the way it feels a little like he rides to his own execution, instead thinking of the coming week. Hob’s companionship was—it was lovely, and calming, and he wants more of it. He wants it desperately, with a fire he recognises but refuses to think about directly. That is a fire that has brought him only pain and ruin—he would not subject Hob, who seems so good, so bright, to that. (He thinks he will not subject anybody to that again. He thinks of the last few times he has loved. His love is a terrible, brutal thing—it cannot be a coincidence, surely, that all those he has ever felt something for finds themselves miserable. His love is a curse. He will not subject any to that again, not while he can help it.)

Thankfully, he is not questioned as he leaves his horse by the stables, as the stablehand takes her inside. He is not questioned as he makes his way up to his chambers, and he does not even gain any confused or curious looks. That, he supposes, is due to the fact that he holds his cloak tightly around himself in case he failed to brush off all the sand that clung insistently to his clothes when he left the beach. There was little to be done for the sand on his boots, however—if he is careful about it, he will not be questioned about that, either.

When he makes it to his chambers, he changes into his nightclothes quickly. He is tired, yes, but it is not the kind of tired that would allow him to sleep just yet, not while the moon is still low in the sky. But he lets himself relax and rest, and when he does sleep eventually, for the first time since he left for Orpheus’s funeral, Morpheus falls asleep with a soft smile on his face.

[clown-friend-gt]

Octomer: Chapter One

Based on this post by @gt-squirrel

The Human's name is Sabrina, the only name ever given to the mer is Spots

This story will likely be only 3-5 chapter long, and probably won't be finished before the end of MerMay. I wanted to get this chapter out before the end of the month, though.

Hope you enjoy!

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I remember when my grandfather and I used to be close. It seemed I’d spent almost every summer at his home by the sea. That was, until we had our falling out. Then things were never the same.

That’s why it shocked me when he left me the house in his will. It seems he too held those memories of the time we spent together here in high regard. I just wish we’d had the chance to reconcile before he died.

It wasn’t a hard decision to pack up my life and move here. I work remotely, so distance wasn’t an issue for my job. I never really felt like I belonged in the big city; it was never really my home. When I arrived here, I meant to spend more time getting unpacked. I ended up spending a lot more time tracing my fingers across the old furniture, losing myself in memories. It was almost sundown by the time I started to make any progress getting settled in.

As it started to get dark, I decided to quit for the day. My mind still buzzed with activity; I didn’t even think of sleeping. Instead, I went outside. Grandpa’s house stood on a cliff, and I remembered that I used to like to go out and sit by the edge. Only when Grandpa wasn’t looking, though. He worried to no end that I’d end up falling off of the edge into the ocean below.

I let my feet kick off the edge and listened to the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks. I leaned back, resting my weight on my palms. Then I closed my eyes. As I did, a cool breeze kicked up and caressed my face, bringing with it the salty smell of the sea. I felt something tugging at my heartstrings. An old French song about the sea that my grandpa had taught me. He had tried to teach me the language too, but I never had the talent for it. But his song always stuck with me.

“La mer…qu’on voit danser…” I sang to the breeze. Softly at first but picking up volume as I went along. The song brought with it memories of my childhood, an afternoon where my grandpa and I danced together while this song played on the old record player in the corner. I remembered how we laughed as we stumbled through the steps of a dance we had made up.

My eyes stung, but not from the wind. I sang louder, trying to fight off the coming tears. But pouring my heart into the song only fed into my emotions.

“La mer…a bercé mon cœur…pour la vie.” I finished the song with tears pouring down my cheeks. Grandpa used to like to tell me I had the voice of an angel, that I could’ve easily made it big as a singer. I knew after plenty of rejections that he was only flattering me. But it still felt like a nice way to remember him.

I wiped the tears from my face. I needed to distract myself. I breathed a long sigh and laid down on my back, my feet still dangling from the edge of the cliff. It never ceased to amaze me how beautiful the stars were out here away from all of the lights. You never got views like this in the city.

I tried to find constellations I could recognize. I traced my finger from the stars of the Big Dipper to the Little Dipper, and then to the North Star. Just like Grandpa taught me…

I felt tears pricking at my eyes again.

“Think of it, Sabrina,” he used to tell me. “Late at night, no land for miles, the glassy sea the only landmark. How do you possibly find your way home?”

“A map. A compass. Sonar?” I teased him, after hearing this story for the millionth time.”

“No, no, no, Mon ange,” he chuckled. “In the places beyond reason, where the tools of men fail, you must always rely on what does not change.”

He pointed upwards. “The stars. It is what my father taught me, and what his father taught him. It is the only way.” Then he took my hand in his and guided it along the path that led to the North Star.

“You’ve told me this a hundred times, grandpa,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“If it will lead you home, I’d tell it to you a hundred times more.”

A tickle in my feet pulled me out of the memory. It felt like something cold and wet was brushing up against them. I sat up and leaned over to look. But in the dark, it looked like nothing was there.

It’s just my mind playing tricks on me, I thought. I gazed at the horizon where the sky met the sea to try and take my mind off of it. Then I felt it again, only this time, on my hand. I looked over to see something snaking its way up the cliff, its tip laid on top of my hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I yanked my hand back, but the thing followed it. It felt around like someone trying to find something in the dark. It found its way to my waist and snaked around it. I tried to pull it off of me, but it latched on with sudden strength. I shrieked.

Then it pulled me off the edge of the cliff.

My feet kicked against empty air, and without the feeling of the cliff underneath me, terror gripped my heart. I looked down to see the ocean lapping at the coast almost a hundred feet away. The only thing keeping me from plummeting into it was the huge tentacle wrapped around my waist.

If it weren’t for the faint starlight reflecting off of it, the tentacle might have blended perfectly into the darkness. I tried to locate its source, but I lost track of it once it met the water. But I wouldn’t be in the dark for long.

A decent distance away from where the tentacle emerged, something disturbed the water. The top of an enormous head breached the surface, followed by humanlike shoulders and a torso. It rose up, up, up, until it loomed above even the tremendous height the tentacle held me at.

Water rolled off it in waves and crashed into the sea below. As I watched, the dark phthalo blue of its skin shifted subtly in color to match the sky behind it. Little bits of light dotted its skin like stars. My heart hammered in my chest as I stared at it. Christ, this thing was huge. I’d never seen a mer this size. What did it want with me?

Its eyelids slowly rose, and then I was gazing deeply into its gigantic golden eyes. I was petrified in its gaze, and it regarded me carefully. There was some emotion in its eyes that I couldn’t fathom.

The tentacle brought me closer. “Wait—wait—wait—” I sputtered as it did so. More words died on my tongue as its lips pulled upwards, baring its teeth.

The teeth were long and thin, like needles. They sat close together, mismatched in length. The longest ones were probably as long as my arm.

Cold sweat rolled down my forehead as I came to a horrible realization. Is it going to eat me?

I struggled against the creature’s slimy grip, no longer caring about the plunge below me. I needed to get away, and I needed to get away now. I grunted and strained against the tentacle with all of my might, but I couldn’t get away. The thing only tightened its grip ever so slightly, trapping me for good.

As it brought me closer to its mouth, the futility of the situation began to dawn on me. “Please,” I plead with it. “I don’t want to die.” It didn’t respond, it just kept bringing me closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see my own death approaching.

See you soon, Grandpa, I thought to myself, mournfully.

I waited for the sharp pain of its teeth to hit me. Instead, I felt something wet and warm smoosh into my face and the entire upper half of my body. Confused, I opened my eyes again, only to see myself being pulled away from puckered lips.

I hung in the air, stunned. Even as the wind rushed past me as it brought me away from its face, I had no reaction. My confusion didn’t fade as it brought me above the cliff again and gently set me down several feet from the edge of the cliff.

My nerves told me to run, that I’d been granted a second chance and I had to take it. But curiosity kept me rooted in place. What was this thing doing, and why?

It’s toying with you! The survivalist part of my brain screamed at me. But some part of me kept me standing there, waiting to see what it did next.

I heard the sound like a rushing wave as it approached the cliff. I took an instinctive step back. It brought its arms up to the cliffside and folded them on top of it, then plopped its head on top of its arms. Then it grinned at me with that jagged smile again.

“What the fuck,” I whispered.

A loud crackling sound came from its throat. The strange motion of its Adam’s Apple as it did so caught my eye. It made a few more sounds, then looked at me expectantly, as if it was saying something.

“I don’t—” my voice caught, and I cleared my throat. “I don’t understand,” I told it, speaking a bit louder.

It raised its head, leaning away. Then it began to hum. The sound rumbled through me. I was mystified by the feeling.

Then I realized that I recognized the tune it was humming. It was humming to the tune of “La Mer,” the song I had been singing earlier.

I listened for a few more seconds before joining in at the end of the phrase it hummed, “Des reflets changeants…sous la pluie.”

It made a chirping sound that carried what sounded like excitement as it leaned in again.

“You liked the song?” I asked it. Is that what brought it here? Then why did it…

I tried to take in what I was seeing. As it lay against the rocky cliff, the skin touching it shifted colors to match the dark gray. But there were a few marks on its skin that didn’t change color with the rest of it, remaining a dull white, like scar tissue. I recognized one of the scars on its shoulder.

I looked back up at its face, looking it right in the eye. Those big, golden eyes. I knew those eyes.

“…Spots?” I asked hesitantly. His eyes lit up in recognition. He made that happy chirping sound again and flashed that big, toothy grin.

For a while, I was speechless. All I could think to say was, “You’ve changed so much since the last time I saw you.”

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P.S. If you're curious, the song Sabrina sings in this chapter (and a few more times in the future) is La Mer.

[samisnotlegend]

When Izuku and Katsuki are eleven, they share a dream. Someday, they promise, they will explore the world's oceans together. Unfortunately, things don't go exactly according to plan.

With a little bit of romance and a whole lotta magic, however, things might still work out for the best.

Or

Bkdk meets H2o!

-

Happy MerMay everyone! I am so excited to unveil this joint project @macksmilesback and I have created together! Mack and I hope to update this every other day this month! And then maybe a little bit after in case it gets long... anyway if you love mermaids and you love bkdk with a nice does of angst and silliness, please come check it out!

[princessasmosprincess]

Mermaid Splash Bonus Chapter

Lucifer and the Old Wizard

Summary: Obey Me! Fairy tale au. A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid.

Pairing: Asmodeus x GN MC

Warnings: Death mentioned, mild blood in other chapters.

***

Author's note: This isn't exactly a deleted scene since Mermaid Splash exclusively follows Asmo, but it was a concept I thought would be interesting to explore while I was writing the story. Lucifer giving up his life in exchange for his brother's is so him. He already has such a great dynamic with Solomon but they're usually evenly matched or Lucifer has the upper hand, being a powerful demon; I've tipped the scales in favor of Solomon this time to see what would happen. This been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and what better time to release it than Mermay? In the continuity of Mermaid Splash this scene would have taken place during chapter 5, about a day before the engagement ball at your castle.

As for what Solomon did to get banished from the kingdom... I have no idea. You're welcome to make your own theories in the comments or tags ;)

***

Lucifer knew exactly where the Old Wizard Solomon’s cave was. When the others went to bed, exhausted from weeks of sleepless nights searching all over the kingdom for Asmodeus, Lucifer swam to the gates and snuck past the guards. He would ask for forgiveness from Crown Prince Diavolo later, if he was caught.

“Prince Lucifer, what a pleasant surprise.” said the Old Wizard as Lucifer surfaced in his cave.

“Where is my brother?” he demanded.

“Oh come now, that's hardly a greeting. And besides, you have so very many brothers, which one are you referring to?”

“Asmodeus. Where is Asmodeus?” Lucifer gritted his teeth. “The last time I spoke to him, we were talking about you–”

“Oh, I come up in your family discussions, I am too flattered.” The Wizard came to where the edge of the stone floor met the water, bending down to be closer to Lucifer’s level although he still spoke down to him. “Asmodeus is on land, making use of the legs I gave him, likely courting that human of his.”

“What?” Lucifer blanched.

Leaving the kingdom's walls was already grounds for punishment, at least it had been during the Sea King’s rule. Forsaking the sea altogether... That was unprecedented. It could mean exile or worse. If only Lucifer or any of his brothers had noticed Asmo drifting away sooner.

“Yes he was quite insistent that he wanted to become human. So much that he was willing to give up his beautiful voice.” The Wizard sat down with his legs crossed. “Now isn’t that dedication?”

“What were the terms?”

“Hmm?” the Wizard feigned ignorance with a small smile and speaking infuriatingly slow. “Oh, the terms? They were simple, really. He has thirty days to win the heart of his human and he can keep his legs and become one himself.”

Every deal with the Old Wizard came with a catch. Asmo was foolish to make a pact with him. “And if he fails?”

The Wizard leaned back on his hands. “If, at the end of the thirty days he is unable to obtain the human’s heart, he will dissolve into seafoam and die.” He’d said it so casually, as if discussing the tides.

“No!” Lucifer gripped the edge of the stone for stability. “Without his voice it will be impossible. How can he–”

“Well it's a good thing the object of his affection seems to be the one human who can’t fall for his voice.” said the Old Wizard.

So Asmo hadn't been speaking in hypotheticals then, he really had found someone immune to the song of merpeople.

“Do you think so little of your brother? A pretty thing like him should have no trouble seducing a human.”

“He is young!” Lucifer’s ruby red eyes glowed in anger in the dim light of the candles, seawater sloshing over the stone floor. “He is impulsive. He couldn't have known what he was getting into!”

Wizard Solomon was unbothered by Lucifer’s outburst. “Young he may be but he is grown for a merperson and for a human, which is what he is now, and may remain if he accomplishes his task. I wouldn't have made the pact with him had I not believed he was equal to it. I am not evil as most merpeople would lead you to believe.” he sniffed.

“Then why have you been banished from the kingdom?” The incident had happened before Lucifer’s time and it was seldom spoken of, so even he didn’t know the details.

“That is a personal matter.”

Cryptic as Lucifer had expected, he wouldn't get an answer. But that didn’t matter now. Lucifer needed his brother back.

He looked up at the Wizard, “Can the spell be reversed? Can he come back to the sea?”

The Old Wizard thought for a long moment, so long that a few candles sputtered out in the dampness of the room. Lucifer stared at him, tense, but patiently. It would do him no good to anger the Wizard.

“It is possible. I can make our pact void, yes.” He said, “But as you know, that will cost you. And I will need something greater than Asmodeus was able to give.”

“Please,” said Lucifer, bowing his head and lowering his eyes, both hands pressed against the floor. “I’ll do anything. Whatever you ask, whatever you require.”

Lucifer was a prideful merman, he was known for it throughout the kingdom, but this was his little brother’s life on the line. He would find a way to change the tides and wake the sleeping King of the Sea if he needed to.

The Old Wizard Solomon grinned, enjoying Prince Lucifer’s display of humility.

“I require only a single thing,” He lifted Lucifer’s chin with one finger, making him gaze up into his eyes. “Your life in exchange for his.”

Lucifer reeled back. “What do you–”

“Servitude, my dear prince,” the Wizard stood and made his way back into the room by the many shelves that lined the walls. “You will work for me, bound until the end of my days, or yours, whichever comes first. Agree to this pact and I will give you this.” He produced a long knife from one of the shelves.

Lucifer leaned over the stone floor, almost coming out of the water to get a better look. “And what use would I have for that?”

“This knife is the key to severing Asmodeus’ spell,” said the Wizard. He sat back down at the edge of the floor. “His voice will not return, but if he kills the human he loves and lets their blood spill upon his legs, his tail will grow back and he can return to the sea. All of this must be done before the sun rises on the thirty-first day, which is soon, three days’ time.”

Lucifer reached for the knife but stopped himself before he touched it. “Asmo would never do that, it’s not in his heart.”

Asmo was someone so full of love and compassion. Even if the human didn't love him back, even if it would lead to his own death, Lucifer couldn't see Asmo being able to kill, not if he’d already become attached. He knew his brother.

“Perhaps not,” Wizard Solomon smirked. “But it is the only way he can become a merman again. I think it’s worth a try to ask him, don’t you?”

Lucifer hesitated.

“What is worse, Prince Lucifer? Your younger brother’s death, of which you are so sure. Or a lifetime of servitude to me?”

Lucifer eyed the knife in the Wizard’s hand. If this was truly all it would take…

“I will do it,” he said finally.

“Excellent,” said Wizard Solomon. He set the knife aside. “And now we must make our pact.” He took Lucifer’s right hand in his. “You are in agreement, yes?”

“I am,” said Lucifer, firmly.

“Good.”

With a squeeze of his hand, the Old Wizard recited a complicated incantation. Sparks and symbols flashed in front of Lucifer’s eyes, all coming from his and the Wizard’s clasped hands. Warmth grew from his palm, snaking up his arm and wrapping itself around his heart.

“What is-” he managed to say, but the Wizard ignored him as he continued the spell.

Lucifer’s muscles were becoming weak as the spell progressed, he felt like he was being paralyzed limb by limb, and he worried he would sink under the water. He clawed at the floor, trying to gain purchase. For some reason he knew it was vital that his and the Wizard’s hands stayed connected until he completed the spell.

The Wizard grabbed Lucifer’s other hand, preventing him from slipping under. More and more of his breath was stolen with each word. He thought he would suffocate.

As the Wizard’s words slowed, the sparks began to dissipate. The spell was done.

He let go.

Lucifer sagged against the stone, clinging to a divot in the floor. His breaths came shaky and rapid. After a moment, he was able to move his tail again.

A sigil was etched into his palm.

“Our pact mark,” said the Wizard. He tossed the knife in front of Lucifer. “Now go. Give the knife to your brothers, they can retrieve Asmodeus. But do come back quickly, we have much work to do, my prince.”

The sigil glowed with sapphire blue light at the command.

When Lucifer was able to catch his breath, he grabbed the knife and swam for the kingdom.

***

“Lucifer!” Mammon cried as his older brother reentered their undersea home. “I thought you were gone as well.”

Lucifer pulled Mammon into a tight hug.

“I know where Asmodeus is,” he said.

“That’s great news!” Mammon slipped out of Lucifer’s arms to wake the others but Lucifer pulled him back.

His heart pounded. Mammon’s face was so hopeful. But he needed to tell him, Asmo could only return to the sea if his brothers could convince him to.

“Asmodeus is on land. He traded his voice to the Old Wizard of the Sea for a pair of legs.” said Lucifer.

Mammon was speechless. As a prince of the sea, he knew the laws of the kingdom well. Asmo had betrayed the Crown Prince and the kingdom.

“His pact with the Wizard is almost up. If he can’t obtain the heart of the human he loves in three days’ time, he will dissolve into seafoam.”

“But that means he’ll die,” Mammon clutched at his heart. “Lucifer, what can we do?”

The others were beginning to wake up, roused by the voices in the hallway.

Lucifer had wanted to avoid this and leave without them knowing, but he would miss his younger brothers. They all filed in, still half asleep.

He spoke directly to Mammon. “Go to the crown prince and plead our case. I’m sure he’ll listen when you tell him where I…” Lucifer trailed off. “Just ask him to let Asmo back into the kingdom.”

“But if he’s on land with human legs–”

His brothers murmured in confusion behind him.

“Find him on land and give him this.” said Lucifer. “If he can kill the human he loves and spill their blood on his legs, according to the Old Wizard, his tail will be restored. His voice is lost but that is a small price to pay for him to return.”

Lucifer handed the knife to Satan, knowing it would be safe with him until it needed to be used. He turned to leave.

“Lucifer, how do you know that?” Mammon asked cautiously.

The pact mark on his palm burned as if he held a hot coal in his hand. He looked at each of his brothers before turning away. It was too painful.

“The Old Wizard is waiting for me.” He clenched his hand into a fist.

“What?”

“I must go,” said Lucifer, choking back tears. “Please. Save him.”

***

Cross-posted on AO3

[shello-hi]

I realized I had gone almost the entirety of May without drawing a single mermaid !!

Every Mermay I promise myself that I’m going to draw my dnd characters as mermaids and it finally happened (at least for one of them)

Long haired fishy-looking mermaid is my dnd druid character Paravi (he/they.) I based his design on the parrotfish since he’s 1. Colorful and 2. From a tropical region. He’s got lightning scars because someone reduced him to 0 HP with an lightning-based channel divinity once. He also had his heart replaced with a magical diamond during the campaign, but you can’t see that scar from this angle

Shark-looking mermaid is Ciara, an NPC from the campaign Paravi was in and his eventual romantic partner. She’s heavily based on the Assassin’s Creed Valhalla character, so I’m trying to slowly morph her into a new OC so I can draw her without worrying about copyright XP her mermaid design is based on the starry smooth hound, a shark found in the North Sea!

Happy last day of Mermay and happy early pride month 😎😎😎

[stevethehairington]

✨WIP (almost) Wednesday Game✨

ty to the wonderful @cheatghost @fastcardotmp3 and @stargyles for the tags!!

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

Wips:

head over heels down bad absolute clutz in love no game whatsoever flustered to hell eddie munson (LMAO thats a long title but that's what i chose sdlkfds)

steve can't bake

wayne pov part 3

wayne pov part 4

mermay shenanigans

bb fic/stobin zine piece (again, ones i can't necessarily share much from, but i still gotta chip away at them so i'm adding them here!)

Snippet (from hohdbacilngwfthem aka the long one on the ^^ list and my brand spanking new wip bc i have NO self control lmaoo):

But, if he doesn’t do something about this, these feelings that are bubbling closer and closer to the surface, he’s going to lose his mind. Eddie is but a man; his constitution is weak. There is only so much of Steve he can take before his heart is fit to burst right out of his chest like some fucked up love xenomorph. Thing is, if he wants to keep that from happening, he has to actually talk to Steve. He has to leave the relatively safe confines of his van and go inside the damn store. Which — is a lot harder than it looks. He’s been sitting outside of Family Video for ten going on fifteen minutes now, trying to psych himself up. But every time he comes close to finally bucking up the courage to get out of his car, the wind is knocked from his sails before he even touches the handle. The only saving grace here is that he is positive Steve and Robin haven’t noticed him. Surely one of them would have come outside to see what the hell is up if they had. On their own they’re worriers, but when they get together it’s like it gets amplified by ten. Eddie squints through his windshield, through the double front doors where he can just make out Steve laughing at something Robin says. His head drops back, his throat bares, and his teeth shine, even from this far. Eddie’s heart squeezes in his chest, and his stomach twists into knots. “Don’t be such a coward,” he tells himself. “Fucking— go.”

tagging: @withacapitalp @toburnup @riality-check @hexiewrites @stevecarrington @strawberryspence @steveshairychest @stevesbipanic @harmonictechnicality @2btheanswertothequestion @yournowheregirl @thefreakandthehair @pizzaqueen @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @legitcookie @maxinemaxmayfield @maxineholtzmann and anyone else who wants to participate!! 💕

[mellowfrogs]

its mermay and im a huge lesbiamn

[mahou-furbies]

It is time for

This year the event will be hosted by Snow Miku! Not exactly magical girls but close enough design wise.

Here is the magical girl media consumed on this blog this year:

(Delicious Party Precure, Futari wa Precure Max Heart, Magia Record s3, Machikado Mazoku s2, Tokyo Mew Mew New, Magic Users' Club! (OVA), Magic User's Club! (Tv), Tropical Rouge! Precure season movie, Futari wa Precure Max Heart season movies 1 & 2)

At first it looked like I barely read any magical girl manga this year, but then ended up reading a couple in the final few weeks of the year:

(Magilumiere co ltd, Time Stranger Kyoko (reread), The Life After Retirement of Magical Girls, No Match for Aoi-kun, Magical Lollipop)

Also I read a lot of magical girl webcomics!

(Magical Mom, Sleepless Domain, Cloudy Wondrous, Apricot Cookie(s)!, Miss Guillotine, Strawberry Seafoam)

Then let's go through the events that happened this year. We had a tournament for the favourite Precure, and Cure Milky was the winner! This time it has taken even longer to draw the celebratory art for the winners than last year and I'm still not done, but I guess nobody but me really cares about that so all is well.

We also had a poll for most/least favourite magical girl elements, which I used to compile the most liked and least liked magical girls (though I think the least liked one turned out to be more popular). I really liked this idea and would like to do something more with it one day, or at least just get statistics on people's opinions on different magical girl tropes for fun.

I also did both Mermay and Witchtober this year (and Adorkastock Draw Everything June which I've done every year since its inception), which included a lot of magical girl content. I like these monthly drawing challenges since I enjoy drawing a set of themed characters, and usually the results are a lot more varied than the stuff I usually draw. So next year I'd like to do some more, but I'll have to find different challenges so it won't get repetitive, this was the second Mermay I did and while it mostly involved characters I never draw otherwise, I'd still like to give that spot to something else next time.

Saban Moon was unleashed to the public this year, which did not affect me that much since I have very little relationship with Sailor Moon, but I can still appreciate unearthing a secret alternative version of a well known character (also it was my most popular drawing this year)

This year I started and exercise project by trying to motivate myself with the reward of buying a Miku Nendoroid each time I exercise a certain amount of times. It has been mostly successful, or there are breaks but they are a lot shorter than they would ever be without a prize looming in the future. Much recommended!

Finally one thing that's different from last year that I didn't draw a lot of characters for my magical girl chibi series, because I was busy drawing a different kind of chibi series (hundreds of Pokemon chibis on my other blog). And this chibi style spread to several of my other fandoms too, I used it on the Witchtober, and I've done four (I think) sets of requests in it.

Finally a mention to my frustration on the lack of green Precures culminating in a series of green Precure OCs. 

Then onto the awards!

Best Henshin Design goes to Cloudy Wondrous! A solid design where everything works together (I’m especially a fan of the cloud motif used in different places), and the unique details (crown, wing eyepatch thing) make it more memorable.

Best Team Design goes to Tokyo Mew Mew New! Granted I think I like the original designs more, but TMM team design is still strong here as well, it's recognisable as TMM but highly customisable for OCs.

Best Powerup Design goes to Strawberry Seafoam! Or they should probably rather be called separate forms on the same level with different purposes rather than increasing in power, but who's counting. They are all pretty (as are the other mermaids' transformations) but let's say the jellyfish one is my favourite, it has such warm glowing palette (but also an illuminated dark mode!) and it creates a unique silhouette.

Also a shoutout to Cure Spicy's Party Up Style "hat".

Best Civilian Design goes to Amane's winter look from Delicious Party Precure! It just looks so comfy...

Best Hair goes to Sae from Magic User's Club! It's pretty simple compared to the usual absurd magical girl hairstyles, but I like how the angular shapes make it memorable.

Best Magical Item goes to Bijou's pen from Strawberry Seafoam! It looks pretty, and I like magic where you actually draw your spells. And it's fun to see her style evolve!

Best Henshin Scene goes to the dresser henshin in Magilumiere! Overall it has a lot of creative henshin and I really hope it gets animated some day!

Best Fan Creation is the catch-all award for everything that's not from, like, a big corporation, and this year the competition is really tough with all these highly polished webcomics, on a normal year any one of them would have been the winner but now I have to pick one. And it is also this year's Best Work, so more on that later! 

Best Relationship goes to the group in Magic Users' Club! Their relationships feel very natural, and everyone has something different going on with the other characters. And while there is a little drama, the overall vibe is delightfully positive.

Best Mascot goes to Kome-Kome from Delicious Party Precure! Personality or plot-wise there's nothing that interests me about her, but it must be said that I'm a sucker for progressively aging designs and she's also stupidly cute.

Best Supporting Character goes to the 4th wall breaking Director of Darkness, from Apricot Cookie(s)! He just cracks me up every time he is on panel with his friendly and welcoming attitude. 

Honourable mention to Mari-chan from Precure who is the best character in the season but who unfortunately doesn’t get to do much.

Best Visual goes to the art style of Strawberry Seafoam! Bold and unique glowing saturated colours that somehow feel nostalgic. Special mention to all the swirly magic.

Honourable mention to the art style shifts Apricot Cookie(s)!, sometimes the art goes to retro manga or anime or 3d idol dance models for fun. And another honourable mention to the visual presentation of the Apricot Cookies website.

Best Audio goes to the Shiny Luminous / Queen theme in Futari wa Precure Splash Star (not the henshin one but the one when she’s doing something epic). Feels very majestic.  

For the Best Scene I don’t have anything specific that comes to mind over everything else this year, so let’s say Kuroe’s fate in MagiReco, Shiny Luminous in the Max Heart finale and Grandma’s fate in Apricot Cookie(s)! can share it.

Innovation Award is for honouring a work doing something new and refreshing for the magical girl genre. This year I read several webcomics (that generally get to be more innovative than commercial anime) and even one actual manga that focused on "magical girls as a job", but each with a little different angle. So a shoutout to Magilumiere Co ltd, Sleepless Domain, Cloudy Wondrous, Apricot Cookie(s)!, Miss Guillotine and Magical Mom! With this many of them it'd feel a little weird to pick any for the "innovation award" over the same topic, so let's reward Magical Mom, for having, well, the magical mom! Magical girls whose mother is also a magical girl are of course a thing, but this time the child is a boy, and the mother also is an active and prominent character (and not just a background mentor), so that is new to me.

Then the Golden Mana Award, that is the dishonourable mention awarded to one thing I didn't like this year! 

This year it goes to Porun from Futari wa Precure Max Heart. Frankly he was probably more annoying in the original Futari wa but I had something else to complain about that year so now it's his turn. For the life of me I can't understand how this would be an appealing character concept even for children, like don't even 5-year-olds get annoyed at a toddler sibling's tantrums interrupting their big kid play? Even his less overtly irritating scenes don't do much for me, since they rely on "aww isn't it cute how the baby wants to be with you" mushiness.

Also another dishonourable mention to downgrading Pudding’s jumpsuit into a dress.

Best Character goes to Kuroe! (from MagiReco) I really like her design (especially how it mirrors Iroha’s), her quiet and hesitant personality and her melancholic story that felt fresh among all the magical girls who excitedly jump into saving every passerby. Or I don’t really like how she fit in the larger narrative, but in isolation I think her story was interesting.

Best Work goes to Apricot Cookie(s)! It's really funny and the art is great, and the character designs are memorable. The heroine is charmingly dumb and everyone in her family is great. And it took a while to grow on me, but in the end the weeb references make me feel at home.

Plans for 2023

I didn't manage to get any of the shorter mg shows from last year's list (though I did watch Magic User’s Club which wasn’t on the list) so those are still there. I'd also like to watch two series from the Precure backlog, this year I only managed one.

Art-wise I plan to do more for the chibi series, and do another "x colour Precure oc" series. And I'd really like to draw more art that has, like, a background or a mood or a composition, but let's see if that goes anywhere.

(also hopefully more Miku Nendoroids)

[skumhuu]

Leviathantale Mermay

Mermay may be over after today but mers are all year long in my heart >:3c

Okay but seriously, I can't thank everybody enough for being so kind and sweet and creative during this month. Leviathantale wouldn't be what it is today without you all. I wish I had more time and energy to give every piece the praise they deserve because every single day was like a gift. 

Those who only made one thing? You shine like the brightest stars! Those who could only do a few? I adored seeing you pop up like bubbles! Those who made something every single day? You worked so hard and you shine so bright, a rare pearl in the ocean! Those who worked on something, but haven't finished? You can do this! Better late than never. 

Even if you didn't make a single thing, you also participated in mermay with all of your retweets, likes, and support. I appreciate you all so so much and I can't wait to see you all next year for mermay 2023!!! 

I will probably vanish for a bit after May to take a break  XD This was a lot of work! Rewarding, but also A Lot lol

[hobimo]

Green on the Horizon chapter 3 preview

hello if u have missed my previous posts here i have finished chap 3 and im getting into chap 4 but im not pleased with them so i have decided to lock them up until may where i will reassess them once they have fermented enough and Developed Flavour and post them both for mermay.

Until then please keep reading to see the first scene of chapter 3 below! I’m pretty happy with it but when u see it next it might be tweaked a bit idk. thanks for your patience :)

The stories have always depicted dragons as benevolent gods. As wise. As merciful.

The sound of water breaking disturbs the crew and Seokjin so much that he flinches before the dragon’s huge tail slams down onto the deck directly in front of him. Seokjin feels the ship lurch and sink further into the water under the dragon’s weight. Easily as tall as him, the scales are so large and green and wet with water he can see his own terrified face reflected in them before they disappear into the huge white tuft of fur at the end, just like a lion’s tail.

Red spines peek out through the fur, long enough to impale Seokjin with one swipe.

When Seokjin dares look up at the beast, its vermillion eyes are narrow and cruel.

Its lips pull back as their gazes meet, vicious. Beyond the torrents of water falling from the dragon’s huge, serpentine body, the deck is completely silent. Seokjin feels cold the more he stares at the creature, frozen still as its red eyes bore into him. It’s so large it blocks out the afternoon sun behind it; an eclipse realised.

To show his sincerity, Seokjin had foregone even his usual rope knife. He is completely defenceless before the dragon, its maw big enough to bite him clean in two. From above them, the dragon growls something awful, so loud and intense it makes Seokjin’s bones tremble under his skin, the very air heavy like water as he grapples for a rope, just to stay on his feet. He can barely breathe through the weight of it, hitting his chest so hard he doesn’t even know if his heart can beat under the pressure.

Every painting, every sculpture, every story Seokjin has ever heard or seen, pales before the dragon before him. Does not capture the weight it carries, the sound of it, the predator’s gaze. For the rest of his life, all legends will be ruined for him, no tales of dragon mercy will ring true. This is a beast that wants Seokjin dead, and it is happy to wait for his sweat to wash away the stink of snake wine before it strikes.

One day when he dies, this dragon will peer down and watch which realm his soul goes to next with those same crimson eyes.

From the corner of his eye, Seokjin sees Jimin duck behind the main mast, tip-toeing to the bow of the ship.

Right. They had a plan. And Seokjin has to do his part.

The dragon pries one talon out of the wood, splinters flying, and then lowers it down one step further, the maw of razor-sharp teeth inching closer. Its neck is so long that even with its talons halfway down the mast, it can curl up like a cobra, looming over them. Just its neck alone must be the same length as the mast itself, thicker than it where it meets its chest, before thinning again, the rest of its snake body writhing as it adjusts its posture on the wooden beam.

“Dragon King!” Seokjin shouts, barely audible through the dragon’s growling. His voice sounds scratchy and raw, not clear like it should be, but he doesn’t dare stutter, not here. He will force the words out with his whole body if need be. The dragon’s growl intensifies in response, eyebrows twitching and furrowing, clearly displeased. It lowers its head inches further, the feathery edges of its whiskers almost touching the deck.

The killing intent is almost enough to make Seokjin’s legs give out, but he grips the rope until his knuckles turn white and clears his throat. He can’t give up now, not after everything he’s done. Not when they’re finally getting close to making the impossible a reality.

“I will not talk more than necessary,” Seokjin grits out, and the dragon’s red-scaled lips pull back further, all of its white teeth on show. “I want to borrow the power of your yeouiju.”

There’s a hitch in the growling, the dragon clearly surprised, and it opens its mouth. From between its fangs, it extends its tongue, pink and slick like a dog’s, suspending the pearl before him like a taunt. The jewel is huge, so large Seokjin would need both hands just to hold it, pearlescent and so full of magic Seokjin can feel it, like he has never felt magic before. A tangible presence, power so concentrated it could corrupt anyone with a touch. Seokjin’s hands itch to reach out and snatch it before the dragon can hide it away again, even though he knows better. The temptation digs under his skin like a parasite, urging him with a ferocity he didn’t know existed—take it. Take the pearl. Kill the dragon.

He drags his eyes away from the stone to the dragon’s red gaze above, and feels like choking on seawater. Those eyes are narrowed and waiting. Baiting him. Luring him right up to its teeth, like an anglerfish.

“Yes. I need its power just for one task,” Seokjin continues, and the dragon’s eyes narrow further, retracting its tongue and the yeouiju back into the safety of its mouth. “There is a ship that sails between the mainland and Tsushima island, manned by the ghosts of those murdered by their crews at sea. I want to revive someone, using your yeouiju.”

The dragon’s eyes widen, its surprise startlingly human, before they narrow even further, growling viciously again. It’s jaw opens an inch, enough to see the way its tongue and lips pull back, worse than any dog or tiger, wood creaking and ship swaying as its weight shifts, preparing to pounce on him.

It won’t. The smell of the wine hasn’t faded yet.

“I only need it for that one thing,” he continues. There is a shadow moving on the main mast, beside the dragon’s curled body, and Seokjin forces himself not to look. “I have no intention of stealing it from you. If you would be willing to lend me the jewel—”

The dragon snaps warningly, lurching out to bite through the air in front of Seokjin, so close the rush of air stings. The snap of its jaws is terrifying, so loud and close Seokjin is scared one of his own bones has snapped. The growl changes and sharpens with a hiss in the back of the beast’s throat, its white beard swaying as it shakes his head, licking its chops.

He misspoke, then.

“I have no intention to use the jewel for anything else,” Seokjin insists, the dragon growling so loud and close he can barely hear the words come out of his mouth. It’s approaching him, enraged even to the point of enduring the smell, it seems. “I swear on my life.”

For a fleeting moment, Seokjin lets his hopes mislead him. He almost thinks the dragon will be as benevolent as the legends claim, that it will be moved by his plea, or that perhaps it will use the jewel in its mouth to divine the truth in his words.

But like all else, the tales pale before the dragon.

The look in its eyes is so furious Seokjin expects it to begin swearing at him, to curse his bloodline for generations—but it does no such thing. Like an animal it climbs one step further down the mast, until the deck is within its reach, its neck coiled up to stay just far away from Seokjin that the wine’s smell doesn’t reach. And then it growls lowly, before jerking its head away from him. The meaning is clear, even to Seokjin: his life is worthless.

And then it begins to rain. The dragon watches him, eyes wide and perfectly still, as the rain begins as nothing but a few timid drops and develops into a downpour within an instant, the harsh sunlight fading and replaced by gloom. The blinding reflection of the sun on its scales is replaced by a buffeting wind that kicks up salt and spray onto the deck, whipping the white mane around the dragon’s head furiously.

“I ate the swallow purposefully to lure you here,” Seokjin bites out, his words lost to the wind but the dragon hears him just fine, roaring at him as wood splintering under one of its talons. Its tail whips away from him, slapping the water so hard spray hits the deck and stings Seokjin’s skin. “It was not my intention to offend you. We had no other option. The yeouiju is our only hope.”

When the dragon opens its mouth and hisses, it’s like staring down the gullet of a crocodile. The force of its breath is enough to sting his skin, and instead of smelling foul, it smells only like the harshest ocean wind.

“The fortune teller foresaw you would help us!” Seokjin snaps, desperation turning to frustration. The dragon recoils violently at this, rearing up so much so that even its front talons leave the wood, suspended only by its body wrapped around the beam. “So tell me, what must I offer for your jewel to be used this once?”

The dragon’s eyes blaze, and when it tenses up a little further, Seokjin knows it is going to pounce on him, ignoring the stench of wine and snapping him up. All of this for nothing. Summoning a god just for it to deny him, to cast him aside.

The shadow on the mast drops from where it had been holding onto the halyard, falling right beside the dragon and grabbing halfway down its green whisker. The dragon shrieks in pain as its head is wrenched down, and Jimin’s feet hit the deck with barely a sound. Seokjin watches with horror as the dragon’s red eye swivels to see who has grabbed it, before it roars and throws its head back.

It’s exactly what Jimin wanted, Seokjin realises. Jimin manages to kick his legs just enough that when the dragon hauls him back up in the air, Jimin swings right under its chin and can hook his heels in the battens of the sail, enough to drag himself right onto the top of the dragon’s head. Jimin’s snarl is so ferocious Seokjin can see the slash of white teeth even from here, as the man grabs one of the dragon’s antlers and uses that strength of his to pull the whisker tight enough that the dragon’s jaw is wound shut.

“Now!” Yoongi shouts, and men on either side of the deck pick up a coil of rope and throw it high, over the dragon’s neck and head. Together, the crew grasp the slick ropes, wet from the downpour, and winch them down. The dragon thrashes and struggles, roaring and hissing in the back of its throat, shaking its head violently to try and dislodge Jimin, who holds firm.

Its weakness is that dragons are benevolent. Seokjin hadn’t understood it, but as the dragon’s eyes frantically search around it for somewhere to flee, Seokjin sees the exact moment it realises it cannot escape without throwing the crew overboard, possibly killing them. That it’s trapped.

With one final heave, the men pull the ropes tight, and the dragon’s head pressed down into the deck. Jimin doesn’t move from the top of its head, wrapping the whisker around his arm like a rope. Its lower body writhes and struggles, trying to pull it free of the rope, but one of them has been secured behind its antlers and can’t move. Its tail slaps the water, swipes the side of the boat, those red spines nailed through the wood, but not even that can save it.

Jimin stands on the captured dragon like a demon, the wind whipping his black hanbok around him, eyes feral. “I told you I could do it,” Jimin says, grinning despite how heavily he’s breathing. All the muscles in his arm jump as he adjusts his grip on the antler, knuckles white. “Go on then, Siren Captain. Make your demands.”

The dragon growls as Seokjin approaches, no less threatening even now that it is restrained. Its snarls as best it can with his jaw wrapped shut, its eye furious and human where it glares back at Seokjin. It throws itself against the bindings, trying to at least hit Seokjin, but Jimin yanks on the whisker so it can’t budge.

“You’re trapped, Your Majesty,” Jimin taunts it, his voice cutting through the ringing in Seokjin’s ears. “Better to give in and listen.”

The dragon growls, struggling again, but its head doesn’t move. Tentatively Seokjin approaches, placing one foot down after the other until he is close enough to speak directly into that red eye.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, low enough that Jimin hopefully will not hear. The dragon’s eye rolls from Seokjin, up to try and see Jimin perched on its head, and finally all the fight leaves it. Its huge eye closes, and the rain stops immediately, the wind abating, the clouds immediately beginning to fade.

“Dragon King,” Seokjin says again, even more daunted by the silence than the lashing rain. His voice comes out far quieter, and the dragon barely blinks open its eye to look at him. “I need the power of your yeouiju for a task. I simply need you to allow us to use your jewel just once. If you can agree to that, we will release you.”

The dragon simply looks at him for what feels like an age, the intensity of its eye never lessening, until it makes a small noise and sighs, eye closing again. Seokjin hopes he is right to interpret it as acceptance. He will have to take the risk, gesturing for the men to release the ropes.

Park Jimin does not.

The air floods with heat, energy so intense and otherworldly that Seokjin stumbles away. Before their eyes the dragon begins to shrink, its tail evaporating where it pierces the side rail of the ship, its twisted torso around the mast disappearing into salt spray. The ship springs out of the water as the dragon’s weight sinking it disappears, and its head shrinks and warps into the shape of a human.

Jimin does not release the dragon even as it becomes a man pressed onto the ground beneath him, Jimin’s hand fisted in his head of white hair.

“Park Jimin,” the dragon-man hisses, hair fading from blinding white to the shiny black of a young man, the last part of his transformation. His hands come up to grab at Jimin’s arms behind him, fingers digging in. “You—”

“Accept the deal,” Jimin snaps, yanking on his hair. The dragon’s answering snarl is as powerful in the air as it has been when he was a hundred times the size he is now. Jimin isn’t fazed, pulling roughly on his hair again as he yells, “accept it!”

“I accept!” The dragon yells, yielding, his eyes finding Seokjin’s where Jimin keeps his face pressed to the deck. “Now release me!”

Jimin drops his hair unceremoniously, picking his feet up and stepping away from the prone man. Yoongi lingers at Seokjin’s side, staring in wonder and horror as the dragon pushes himself up, his free hair spilling over his shoulders, naked and human, betrayed only by the vibrant vermillion of his eyes.

“Fetch him clothes,” Seokjin orders, his voice shrill even to his own ears. When the dragon stands, roughly grabbing at Jimin for support, Seokjin is startled by how tall he is. Perhaps not quite his height—he must be the same height as Seokjin, not even as tall as Namjoon—but rather how small Jimin looks beside him, almost a head shorter, and yet the dragon moves away from him as soon as he’s steady on his feet, as if it pains him to be close.

The dragon king is as striking as a man as he was as a dragon, his face easily belonging in a mural rather than on a live person.

“What shall they call you?” Jimin asks, and Seokjin itches to hit him at the mocking tone he uses. Even at this distance between Seokjin and the dragon, an easy six paces, the air thrums around him with dangerous power.

“You push your luck, Park Jimin,” the dragon snaps. He turns to Seokjin with a grimace, vitriol in his eyes as he inclines his head. “You may call me Taehyung, Kim Seokjin. Siren Captain of the Southern seas.”

“And crew,” Jimin jabs. When Taehyung snarls at him, his teeth are fanged and sharp.

“And crew,” Taehyung bites out. Jimin grins at him, apparently unbothered by the dragon’s anger.

“I will remain with you until the moment you require the jewel,” Taehyung explains. “I cannot leave it in your care. I will not lift a finger to help or protect you or your crew. You should have made me agree to that while you had the chance. Be warned, Kim Seokjin—everything you barter for in this life, I will personally ensure you are robbed of it in the next.”

The threat from a dragon puts salt in Seokjin’s bones, but he sets his jaw. He was never naïve enough to expect he could pull this off unscathed.

“So be it.”

Jimin snatches the clothes the crew bring out, and throws the outer layer of the hanbok over Taehyung’s shoulders, leaving him to dress himself. Seokjin is almost embarrassed at the shabby clothing they offer the dragon king, averting his eyes. He can see Yoongi keeps watching him, expression unreadable, hand tight around the hilt of his sword to hide how his whole arm shakes.

Namjoon hovers near the poop deck, unsure whether to approach, so Seokjin gives up and waves him over. Namjoon is strong, physically and in spirit, but he lacks the disposition that makes a truly strong fighter—the cruelty. He is too kind, too gentle, and it makes him too scared. No matter how these three years after Jungkook’s death have affected him, Namjoon was never prepared to kill a dragon, if it came down to it. He shuffles behind Seokjin like an anxious puppy, enraptured by the presence of the dragon.

“It’s good we didn’t die,” Namjoon mutters, and the bark of laughter that comes out of Seokjin shocks even himself.

“Yes,” Seokjin agrees, dragging his eyes back to Jimin and the dragon, who has tied the hanbok around his waist. A dragon, on board Seokjin’s stolen vessel. All to use its power to bring Jungkook back to life. He can only hope that the dragon vowing not to protect them means he won’t also harm them, too tired for much else.

Dragon trapping. Another one of Park Jimin’s frightening abilities.

Yoongi’s warning to stay on his good side echoes in Seokjin’s mind. At least for now he finds Seokjin entertaining enough to stay on board, to offer his help. They are almost done.

“Now we only have to find the ship itself,” Seokjin reminds both Yoongi and Namjoon, and it feels like years since he has seen them smile so sincerely. It probably has been.

“We truly did it,” Yoongi mutters. “It feels like a dream. Jungkook will come home.”