#merfolk bench au

[sunlitmcgee]

Merfolk cBench au chapter 1!

it's here! it was supposed to be a one-shot but now it's gotta be it's own extended thiing! ahhh! ahhh! ahhh! oh well

@oranboo @tobi-smp @vivyainou @prophecy-anon @flamedoesart @northern-loner @lolliepop-central @maddymayhearts

[colormepurplex2]

The Sirens' Song | Into The Deep

↳ Namjoon x Jimin x f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Merfolk/Sirens, Myth/Legend, Fantasy AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 7,688 ⚠️Melancholy thoughts, crass language, shipwreck, mild fear, mentions of death, grief

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon) ◅ Back to story masterlist

In the moon’s glow, where darkness plays, The ocean breathes in rhythmic ways. Against obsidian rocks that are jagged and proud, The tempest whispers secrets, fierce yet loud. Each wave a tale of journeys long gone, Of the briny depth’s roar laced with siren’s song. She foams and crashes, wild and free, A dance of power like a haunting symphony. The salt-kissed air filled with misty spray, Birthing endless nights that will never give way. Watch her still, the tide, relentless; she seeks To carve the stone with her lashing peaks. From rocky cliffs, the sirens wail, Their haunting voices spin a tale. Of sailors lost in the tempest's grip, Drawn to the edge, where they are oft to slip. In Black Rock Bay, the legends doth swell, Of gold and gems that decorate a haunting hell. As storm clouds gather and shadows creep, The restless spirits never sleep. For in this bay where echoes cling, The tempest rages, and the sirens sing.

The song continues, the bard sitting by the fire supporting the mournful words with the harp settled across his lap. His gnarled fingers surprisingly spry on the delicate strings. The dower tune does nothing to bolster your dreary mood. Not even the tankard of sour ale clasped between your palms seems to be working. If anything, the song only proves to darken your heart further.

You’ve heard stories about Black Rock Bay, with the treacherous breaker waves constantly lashing at the jutting obsidian spires that are said to hide untold treasures if one can make it through the squall and ripping current. That is, if you don’t get swindled away into the black abyss enthralled by a siren’s song first.

Just last summer, Miguel, the man you had been sharing your bed with, stole away in the middle of the night with your ship and crew with a course chartered to Black Rock Bay. Fool’s you, you suppose, for letting a man get that close to you. It’s hard enough being a woman, harder still being a woman who is also the captain of a ship. It took you almost a decade to earn your sails and the loyalty of your crew—or so you thought, bunch of mutinous fish guts, the lot of them.

You hope Miguel is somewhere at the bottom of the bay, the sirens using his bones to pick their teeth. The last year has been challenging, trying to rebuild what you once had. But you have enough salt in your veins that it would take more than a stab in the back to see you give up. The hardest part has been gathering a new crew. As it is now, you have the bare minimum of bodies needed to man your new ship. And you’re not sure a few wouldn’t do the same as Miguel did for the right price.

After all, being a pirate comes with its fair share of dangers.

But…maybe… It sits like a lead weight in your belly, the idea of conquering Black Rock Bay out of spite. No one would ever dare to laugh or betray you then, no daggers in your back or sweet smiles slithering their way into your bed only to strike with venom while you’re least expecting it. You’d be a legend. There would be many songs written, stories told far and wide...

“‘Ey, Cap, we off with the sun?” The spritely voice of your best friend, and the only crew member who didn’t take off with Miguel, pipes up from beside you, breaking through your mental wallowing. She slides her petite frame onto the bench beside you, her elbow jostling yours and causing some of the now-luke-warm ale from your tankard to slosh onto your hand. “Oh, sorry,” she adds with a nervous chuckle. “Let me just…” She snatches a handkerchief that has seen better days from her coat pocket and dabs at your hand and the table.

“Ollie, leave it, it’s fine.”

She gives you a gap-toothed grin, her freckled cheeks coloring as she stuffs her soiled handkerchief back into her pocket. Olivia Ramsey has been your friend since you were both urchins on the street fighting over crusts of moldy bread.

You never knew your parents, only that your mother was a flavor that many were partial to, and she indulged for the right amount of coin. It’s supposed that you were begotten on her by one of those men—a pirate, most likely. Once you were old enough to pilfer your own meals, not quite ten, those proverbial apron strings everyone believes mothers possess were indefinitely sheered off at the source. All your memories of her are vague, a hazy figure shooing you away from a darkened doorway...a woman too busy earning her next coin to worry about the ill-gotten welp that she saw as more of a curse than a blessing.

Ollie came from a loving home. Or as loving as an ill-favored family can be. Her father had a gambling problem, and her mother had the spine of a jellyfish. When she was seven, she ended up being the payment of a gambling debt. Servitude to an upper household was her fate. At some point or another—the details are muddled to you as Ollie changes the story just about as many times as she’s told it—she escaped and tried to make her way back to her parents, only to find the house empty when she returned.

It wasn’t long after the two of you became struggling companions that you noticed she sometimes sought answers about her family. You followed her once when she slipped off in the middle of the night, right to the door of a gentlemen’s club. That’s when she discovered she could pass in men’s spaces, thought to be a boy sneaking about. The men would laugh at ‘him’ and be none the wiser to their spilled secrets being consumed by feminine ears.

You look her over now, automatically taking account of her constitution. Curls of her straw-colored hair peek out from under the knit cap pulled low on her head. It’s part of her ploy, continuing to dupe men and cleverly blend in in places where you would be turned away at the door.

“If we leave wi’the sun, there’s a chance we beat Fat Al through the breakers and can hit the reef first.”

You sigh, giving your friend a sidelong look before pushing away your ale and angling your body toward hers. As nice as it would be to put that sniveling pock-marked arse of a wannabe pirate Fat Al in his place…a new plan is formulating in your mind. Slumping slightly, you drape an arm over her shoulders and put your mouth close to her ear.

“I say we let Fat Al have the reef.” Your eyes flick to the bard still crooning about briny ocean air and hauntingly beautiful creatures harboring chests of riches. “There is another place I have set my sights on…”

🌊🌊🌊

Jimin

There is a storm brewing. Jimin can feel it in how the temperature changes in the currents. He’s long since grown used to the drastic changes when the cooler waters from deeper in the ocean surge up into the warmer surface waters. After all, his home has always been this bay, where storms often rage in the skies overhead.

What he isn’t used to is seeing the giant belly of a boat slicing through the water of his bay. More often, the boats that attempt to come to the island of Black Rock Bay come in on the eastern side of the isle where the shore looks smoother and more welcoming—though it is anything but, with its hidden reefs and jagged lava rock just below the surface of the ocean.

“What do you think?” Namjoon’s voice so close startles Jimin out of his vigilant assessment.

“Storms coming on too strong. The ship won’t make it into the bay before the breakers gain height. Most likely, it’ll end up in pieces scattered along the shore,” Jimin murmurs, the frilled gills along the sides of his neck opening and closing, emitting small streamers of bubbles with his words.

“Should we send out the runners and try to steer them clear?”

Jimin thinks on this for a second before shaking his head. “They won’t make it here in time, perhaps if we had asked them before the sun went down just in case this happened. Yoongi would do his best, but…no, my love, we just have to wait and see what grace Calypso may grant these poor souls.”

He knows that even if Yoongi could coax a few of the larger whales to the surface, they’d barely make a difference in causing the boat to change course. As it is, it would be unlikely for whoever’s manning the ship to even see the whales, considering how dark the sky is and how violent the sea is becoming. They’re more likely to accidentally clip one of the gentle beasts than see them.

Namjoon nods, implicitly accepting Jimin’s judgement without question. “We best go deeper; I can already feel the tug of the tide. You’ll be swept away if you linger this close to the surface.”

It’s just as Jimin expects. The sea is angry, thrashing heavy squalls against the shore. Gusts of wind rip through the air, with piercing screams to rival the ocean's own shrill cries. Even from this far down, Jimin can hear the cacophony causing the wood of the boat to groan and creak.

Namjoon’s arms tighten around Jimin. They both watch in horror as the wide berth of the ship rocks violently, getting tossed around like a child’s toy by the turmoil of the sea. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Namjoon murmurs in Jimin’s ear, the bubbles from his words getting lost in the swift currents moving around them.

They’re both watching from the relative safety of one of the many underwater passageways that zig-zag through the underbelly of the island of Black Rock Bay. Small windows look out into the open water, doubling as entrances to the tunnel systems.

It’s like watching a painting come to life, the edges of the window acting as the frame. The boat daring to chart through the bay must be manned by a demi-god, as they continue to battle and persist against the storm.

Jimin is in awe at the display of sheer will. Despite being tossed around with every crashing wave against its bulwark, it careens ever closer to the jagged rocks along the shore, but somehow, the boat rights itself every time and manages to dodge the deathly peaks.

“Whoever they are…if they can navigate through this storm without breaking their ship on the rocks, I’ll personally give them enough gold to fill their hold,” Jimin tells Namjoon as his eyes stay locked on the vessel overhead.

The rough stone lip of the window makes his fingers ache as he clenches them around it every time the ship comes close to one of the outcroppings of old lava rock hidden by the foaming, swirling sea.

“You think they’ll make it?”

Just as Jimin opens his mouth to respond to Namjoon, the first reverberating impact thunders through the bay. Just as the boat started to swing one way, the raucous waves sent it into a near tail-spin without enough time for correction.

Wood splinters, the ocean roaring its victory as it floods into the bilge of the ship, filling it with far more water than it could hold. Jimin sighs, his chest aching from knowing that this was the inevitable end. Even though he had spoken the truth, maybe this fate might have been avoided if he had kept his mouth shut.

Or better yet, maybe if he had agreed to let Yoongi call for the runners, the souls lost above wouldn’t have been swept away by the ravaging sea. Even a tiny chance would have been better than watching this catastrophe; no matter how fruitful the spoils might be from the wreckage. But it’s too late now.

The boat's keel ruptures as it runs along one of the bigger jagged points of bedrock, like a sharp knife through kelp. With that surrender of wood to rock, Jimin knows there is no hope for the ship; it’s been ripped open from stern to bow. They can only watch…wait, and maybe catch an unfortunate soul or two and try to help.

Just as the thought passes Jimin’s mind, Namjoon gasps. He thrusts a hand out over Jimin’s shoulder. “Do you see that?”

Jimin shakes his head, eyes frantically searching the dark, murky waters. Suddenly, he sees them, a flailing figure struggling through one of the rip currents. Jimin doesn’t think twice, using his grip on the window's ledge to propel himself forward. Namjoon is a second behind him, his powerful pearlescent tail hurtling him past Jimin.

“Go!” Jimin urges when Namjoon glances back at him. He can see the hesitation in Namjoon’s eyes, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Jimin behind with the waters so turbulent. “Don’t worry about me!”

Namjoon gives him a resolute nod before renewing his efforts upward. Jimin watches, his own tail and muscles straining as he fights the currents, as Namjoon dodges through the debris field where they last saw the figure in the water.

For one harrowing second, Jimin loses sight of Namjoon around a large piece of ship wreckage. A relieved cry catches in Jimin’s throat as Namjoon reappears, his arms cradling a much smaller being.

“A woman,” Namjoon grunts when Jimin reaches him. “I didn’t see any others.”

Jimin uses his arms to push himself backward, trailing slowly after Namjoon, who doubles his efforts to drag the limp woman toward the opening to one of their open-air caves. It’s a short swim, but all the same, Jimin worries for the woman. There is no telling how long she’s been under or when the last time she had a breath of air was.

Worry eats away at the pit of Jimin’s stomach as he watches large swaths of sail and immense sheets of timber sink to litter the bottom of the bay. Something tells him if anyone else was aboard that ship, they’re lost to the sea. With one final sweep of his eyes over the wreckage, he turns and slips into the tunnel, following after Namjoon and the woman he is carrying in his arms with the hope they will be able to help her.

🌊🌊🌊

Chills seep into your body, burrowing all the way down to your bones. Everything aches. You feel like you just went on a two-week bender and fell into the ocean. Your clothes are sodden, and you feel the violent urge to sick up…maybe you had gone on a bender…

The urge becomes too much, and you heave onto your side, emptying briny water and bile from your belly. It burns on the way out, clogging your nose and making your eyes water as you retch onto the sand.

Clarity begins to ebb in, and the fact you’re lying in the sand with the moon and stars twinkling from above makes no sense because the last thing you remember is—Fuck!

You fling yourself up onto your backside, stirring a shower of wet sand into the air, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth, the sudden movement of sitting up threatening to have you heaving once more.

Swallowing the bile bubbling up, you cough before shouting, “Ollie?!” Your voice is hoarse, the ocean water having stripped your throat raw. “Please, Ollie?!”

The sand shifts beneath your unsteady feet as you struggle to stand. You tilt wildly to the side, your balance off and everything around you showing double. Finally, the shore stops spinning, and you can take in everything around you.

Fat and heavy overhead, the moon illuminates stray bits of what you can only assume is your ship dotting the sand—about thirty feet from the shoreline, a thick jungle stretches in either direction as far as you can see. You wouldn’t have guessed the sky was full of turmoil just…hours ago? Well, you assume it’s only been hours, at least; it’s hard to be sure, but judging by the moon's position, you think you’re right.

You know you should have turned around as soon as the first streak of lightning lit up the horizon. But, with Ollie reassuring you, along with the bolstered attitude from the rest of the crew, you pressed forward, hands tight to the wheel as you steered the bow toward the distant shoreline.

It was with the intent of anchoring just outside the breaker point of the bay, where the reef and lava rock can be seen jutting from the waters. However, the winds were too strong, and the storm tossed the boat about and put you completely off course, right into the path of the old slag tunnels.

You remember how the ship shuddered, the piercing squeal of wood and iron giving in to the relentless power of the rock. Ollie’s alarmed face was the last thing you remember seeing before the whole boat rocked hard to the side, and you were ripped from the helm by the force and sent tumbling into the dark waters of the bay.

Suddenly, you hear voices coming from ahead of you—from the jungle. You stop and listen, holding your breath before exhaling in a rush. “Ollie!” you call, scrambling toward the tree line. “Ollie! Jameson! Red! Anyone?”

Darkness swallows you as you stumble ahead, arms wheeling to keep yourself upright. You shove against trees, using their rough, wet trunks for support as you propel yourself through the underbrush.

“Captain.”

The word shivers down your spine, seeming to come from all directions. You spin in a circle, wet greenery whipping you in the face. The deep emerald greens and rich browns of the jungle are barely perceptible, with the meager moonlight filtering through the dense overhead canopy.

“Ollie!” you scream, the name echoing around you ten-fold. “Where are you? Ollie, can you hear me!?”

“Captain of the shining sea.”

“Looking here, looking there; come to find me.”

“Ollie, this isn’t funny,” you croak. The silence that follows is deafening. Not even insect noise or the hum of wildlife greets you. “Please.” The word falls in a whisper from your trembling lips.

“Captain, Captain of the shining sea. Looking here, looking there; come to find me.”

The words repeat, only this time there is a distinct lilting quality that makes your blood run cold. Ollie isn’t a singer. More so, the entire crew would rather shove nails under their fingernails than belt any sea shanty.

Only one thing comes to mind: a singular possibility as to who—what—it could be.

Sirens. Luring you to your death, enticing the next meal that will fill their bellies.

Foolish, so foolish. And you want legendary songs written about you. You scoff to yourself. The only songs they’ll be writing about you will be the tragic or humorous kind. Everyone will have a good laugh after they toast your memory. No wonder everyone thinks women are bad luck aboard pirate ships. Here you are proving them right.

Turning on your toes, you do your best to hurry back the way you came. Only it’s impossible to tell which way is which in the dark. Everything looks the same. The words continue to haunt you, nipping at your heels no matter how far you manage to go.

“Captain, Captain of the shining sea…”

“Stop! Stop it! Leave me—”

The rest of your plea turns into a shriek as you hurtle down a steep incline. Pain races through your limbs as they smack into trees and bushes, your descent an uncontrollable plummet. 

The ground rises to meet you, the stark reality of your situation flashing before your eyes right before your head meets the unforgiving surface of a rock, and everything goes black.

🌊🌊🌊

Namjoon

“Where did she go? She was right here! You said you’d look after her while I got the stew going.”

Jimin scowls at Namjoon, gesturing to the space where the human woman was just moments ago.

“Simmer down. I’ll go look for her. She can’t have gone far.” In fact, Namjoon is relatively sure he knows exactly where she went.

“No harm better come to her, Namjoon. I mean it!” Jimin’s sour attitude follows Namjoon as he shuffles out into the jungle. It would be better if the sun were out, but as it is, his vision is only mildly impacted by the dark of night. If he were able to assume his mer-form, he’d have no issues at all. Being on two legs only serves as a minor hindrance, mainly in things like hearing and sight.

It’s not like Namjoon intended for the female to wake up and immediately seek to escape. Granted, Namjoon’s knowledge of human females is nearly as limited as Jimin’s, but he at least thought she might wait around to listen to him. He had only stepped away for a second, seeking to put on some acceptable clothing and then bring her some fresh water to drink so it might help clear her head.

“Oh,” Namjoon startles. “What do we have here?” He crouches down next to the crumpled form of a woman. The clothing is similar enough, but the woman is not the same one he rescued from the wreckage.

“Namjoon!” a familiar voice calls a moment before the sound of crunching leaves and soft grunts enters the small clearing at the foot of the incline leading into the heart of the jungle.

“Hoseok? What are you—oh, you found her.”

“Put me down, ya fish-eyed freak! Put me…fuck! Captain, oh seven seas, Captain! Put me down, for salt's sake!”

The small woman Namjoon rescued from the wreckage tumbles from Hoseok’s arms. She scrambles forward on her hands and knees to kneel beside the prone woman at Namjoon’s feet.

“You shouldn’t have wandered off,” Namjoon begins, only to be cut off by the murderous glare thrown up at him.

“What did ya do to ‘er?! I swear to the goddess below, if ya so much as put your slimy hands on ‘er, I’ll gut ya like the fish ya are!”

Namjoon backs away, his very not slimy hands in the air before him. “I only just found her. She was already like that.”

Hoseok shuffles his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was probably the others. I heard them singing earlier. I was coming to get you when I stumbled upon this one,” he says, gesturing with his other hand at the small woman with freckled cheeks and short blond curls, “trying to climb the cliffs. Nearly went over back into the ocean.”

“You have to help ‘er,” the blond woman says, all the fiery ire gone from her voice. She gently brushes sand from the other woman’s cheeks and hair, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. “Please.”

Namjoon had no intention of not helping the woman from the start. But, to placate the small one, he nods his agreement. “I will do what I can. But I need to pick her up.”

The blond one gives him a lingering look, clearly judging his merit, before sliding back on her knees to provide Namjoon with the space he needs to kneel beside the prone woman.

“Be careful wi’ ‘er head.”

Namjoon’s lips purse into a frown, his brain trying desperately to place the woman’s accent. It’s a mixed jumble, consisting of influence seemingly from multiple places. When the woman waves a frantic hand in Namjoon’s face, he blinks, startling back to the task at hand. There will be plenty of time later to figure out where the humans have come from.

Doing just as instructed, with careful ease, Namjoon takes the unconscious woman into his arms, letting her head rest against his naked chest. The linen trousers he pulled on earlier only come to mid-calf, his feet bare of the shoes he knows humans are partial to. The short pants were the only thing he found in Jimin’s chest of human treasures that remotely fit. It’s been so long since either of them had the company of someone other than their own kind that it hadn’t dawned on Namjoon that greeting the young woman in nothing but his skin wouldn’t be proper.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon says, dismissing his inner thoughts about human propriety surrounding clothing, and nods toward the opening to the cave system where Jimin should be waiting.

Hoseok, who is one of Namjoon’s closest friends, trails his eyes over the blond woman before offering her his hand. “Would you like to come with her?”

With no outward hesitation other than the slight narrowing of her eyes, the small woman slides her hand into Hoseok’s, and he hauls her to her feet. “I’m Ollie, by the way,” she says, her shorter legs keeping pace with Hoseok’s with little issue. “And, you’re Hoseok?” Namjoon has never seen his friend nervous, but right now, he’s pretty confident that’s exactly the emotion coloring his friend’s cheeks. Hoseok nods. “Well, I have a lot o’ questions, Hoseok. Maybe ya can answer some as we walk.”

🌊🌊🌊

You’ve had your fair share of blackouts in your life. What with how sour ale can fill your belly and the enticing bet to drink someone under the table…you’d be remiss in saying you’ve never awoken a time or two in a strange place with only a small inkling of how you ended up there.

However, doing it twice in a row is something new. Your head aches. Differently than it had before when you awoke on the beach. This is a skull-deep pounding, something that only comes when you catch an errant fist in a fight or take a sail boom to the back of the head.

You want to empty your stomach for a whole different reason now. The sickly feeling swirls in your belly, your eyes fluttering open as you dry retch. “Fuck,” you whisper coarsely.

“Captain!”

The relief at hearing Ollie’s voice is second to the splitting pain that ricochets through your head at her volume. “Softer, Ollie.”

“Oh, right.” Her freckled cheeks plump around the sheepish smile she gives you. “Sorry ‘bout that, Cap. I’m jus’ so happy to see ya awake. Ya plum near ended my days, seein’ ya layin’ there on the ground wi’ your head split open like a melon.”

You tenderly probe at the lump forming over your right temple. It’s warm to the touch, the flesh swollen and aching. You can feel the rough humps of stitching crisscrossing over the edge of the lump. You wince as your fingers map across the seven sutures. “I must look a sight. Did you stitch me up?”

“Beautiful as always, Cap. Would take a wonder stronger than’a rock to change that. And I wish I could take credit for ‘at beautiful jab job, but it wasn’t me.”

Gods love this woman; she’s a treasure you don’t deserve. Your eyes focus enough that you can take her in wholly. She sports her own discolored lump on the side of her jaw, and dark circles rim the soft skin under her eyes. There is a split at the corner of her mouth, and her right arm, you realize, is secured in a burlap sling. You’re so overwhelmed with taking her in that you don’t even register that she said she wasn’t the one to stitch you up. “Oh, Ollie,” you whisper softly. “What did I do to you?”

She jerks upright, indignation written all over her face. “This wasn’t you, Cap. This was that surly sea we love so much. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve never had before.” It’s clear she believes that wholeheartedly with the stern look in her eyes. “Besides, ya ought not worry about me. How’s yar head?”

You sit up slowly, your vision narrowing slightly as your world rights itself. Blinking, you let your eyes slide over your surroundings, taking an account of what’s around you. A soft mat and scattered blankets create a nest of comfort under you.

The walls are smooth stone with tiny carved-out nitches that form shelves holding a mix of books, shells, and other small trinkets. There is a homey feel to the sea cave, with a few chests and other odd bits of furniture lining the walls. You’d almost think you were in a bizarrely themed boarding room if it weren’t for the giant opening in the floor some feet away, the soft lap of water nibbling at the hole's edge.

Lichen sticks to the ceiling, its soft blue and green glow giving enough light that your eyes aren’t straining as you continue your perusal. Aside from the large hole in the floor, a narrow doorway leads into darkness on the other side of the room.

“Where are we?” you ask, choosing to focus on finding answers of your own rather than the incessant pounding of your skull.

Ollie rocks back on her heels, wrapping her good arm around her knees. You notice she’s not wearing the same clothes she wore the last time you saw her on the boat. Ugh, the boat…you don’t even want to think about that right now. The faded green tunic and sandy-colored breeches dwarf her tiny frame, the neck of the top hanging off one of her shoulders. You glance down and see her petite toes, her shoes nowhere to be seen.

She wiggles her toes, giggling softly. “Hoseok says bare feet’re better for walkin’ the tunnels. Less likely to slip and split my own noggin’.” She emphasizes the words with a rap of her knuckles against the side of her blond curl-covered head.

“Hoseok?” you ask, your attention catching on that name. It’s familiar, almost like you heard it in a dream, but far too fuzzy for you to be sure.

“Oh, he’s—”

“He’s right here,” chirps a jovial, masculine voice from the passageway across the room. “Nice to see you awake. Think you could stomach some stew? Would do you well to get something in your body.”

Your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the nearly naked man shuffling into the cavernous space. In his hands is a wide wooden board covered in what looks like chunks of bread, sliced fruit, and a bowl of steaming stew. The smell of the luscious, smoky broth hits your nose as he draws closer, and your stomach gives an appreciative gurgle.

“I promise the food is safe ta’ eat,” Ollie whispers, slanting a hand against her mouth in your direction. “It’s smoked fish stew. I had some earlier and even asked after seconds.”

That captures your attention, your eyes swinging in her direction, an incredulous look overtaking your face. “Ollie—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Rule number one: don’t accept food from blokes ya don’t know. But, Cap, I was starvin’, and I knew ya’d be in need of some food when ya woke. So, really, I did it for ya, had to make sure they wasn’t tryin’ to poison ya.”

You take a moment to assess Ollie’s countenance, realizing that aside from the visible bruises from her toss into the ocean, she seems no worse for wear. Her pallor is rosey, a healthy flush beneath her freckles, and her eyes are bright and clear.

“Just some water,” you say, your gaze flicking towards this Hoseok character.

“But, Cap—”

“For now, Ol. Just to be sure my stomach doesn’t sick up from anything more hearty.”

You hate lying to her. Even though she seems to be of her right mind, she almost seems too eager…too trusting. Which is so far removed from the Olivia Ramsey you know, the one who would turn her nose up in suspicion at even the slightest hint of stink. And this has the ripe stench of three-day-old chum all over it.

“Water then.” Hoseok nods, though his lips kick down in a frown as he sets the tray laden with food beside the tangle of blankets and pillows you woke up on. 

“Thank you,” you mutter as Ollie hands you a ceramic cup from the tray. The contents look clear enough and holds no distinct odor as you give it a tentative sniff before putting it to your lips.

The water is crisp and surprisingly cool, tasting faintly earthy like it came directly from a rocky stream. You gulp it down, your aching and raw throat rejoicing with the soothing relief.

Hoseok squats down beside Ollie, your eyes tracking his every movement. His pants are thin, the worn fabric hanging loosely from his frame. It’s clear they’re not new, perhaps aged even further from the constant wear from the briny ocean air. His chest is bare, emphasizing a slender frame with smooth, corded muscles. His trousers might be worse for wear, but his eyes are a clear, beautiful brown, complimenting the shag of black hair on his head…though, there is something off-putting about him…something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I hope those stitches are okay. I tried not to tie them off too tightly, but it has been quite some time since I last performed such a task.”

Your lips twitch, brows furrowing ever so slightly. In all your years, you’ve had your fair share of stitches with everything from catgut wire to medical-grade thread. With just the brief inspection you gave your sutures, you can tell they’re on the better side. You’d maybe even go so far as to say they’re on par with a medical professional. Perhaps this Hoseok character is a sea-lost doctor washed up on shore once upon a time, the same as you and Ollie. “What is this place?” you ask him, your fingers flexing around the empty cup clasped in your hands.

“A sea cave—”

“No. I mean, what is this whole place? Where are we, exactly?” Your eyes flick away from him, darting across the walls as if you tried hard enough that you could see through the dark stone and figure it out yourself.

“I believe your kind calls this place Black Rock Bay. Though, that’s truly a misnomer, considering the rocks in the bay are more of a dark blue than black, but I can see how one might make that mistake.”

You blink at him, the cogs in your mind trying desperately to lock the details into place. Two things stand out above all the others—your kind and Black Rock Bay. So, clearly not a medical professional, and, wait—

“We truly made it?” you whisper, your lips suddenly feeling numb and your tongue thick like molasses.

“Just you n’me.” Ollie’s voice slices through the silence, landing you harshly back into the very stark reality of what happened. Your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and she winces, an apology already forming on her cracked lips.

You shake your head, addressing her before she can take back her words. “There were no other survivors?”

The question was addressed to Hoseok, but another voice answers you. “None that we’ve found thus far, but we are still searching the shore and the wreckage.”

You’re better than the sound that rips from your throat. Maybe if you hadn’t taken a knock to the head, you’d have been able to hold your ground and have suppressed the surprise. As it is, the unintelligible squawk you emit echoes around the cavernous chamber as your eyes widen on the figure emerging from the lagoon pool on the other side of the room.

Pearlescent scales ripple along strong arms as hands brace against the lip of the lagoon. The shimmery teardrop shapes spread over an impeccably defined chest, blending into the creamy skin of a toned stomach and narrow hips before ending at the ridged blue and green band of a…tail? The long, flowing appendage slides over the stone as the figure pushes themselves completely out of the lagoon opening.

Water slicks off of them, the soft sloshing sending a gentle spray of misted salt water into the air. You watch in abject shock as the scales slowly recede with every drop of moisture that wicks away as the newcomer quickly brushes a length of fabric they grabbed from a nearby shelf over their body.

You want to reach out and finger the wet lengths of hair that swing with their every movement, like scattered moonlight on ocean waves. You’ve never seen hair quite so bright; it’s even lighter than the wheat-colored curls adorning Ollie’s head.

It’s a mesmerizing sight, watching the way the glittering scales disappear, melting away to reveal smooth and supple skin as if they never existed. Slender legs take shape; flexing toes and taut muscles speak of a delicate grace you’d never have associated with the male form before. And male it is…the very breath in your lungs stills as your eyes catch on the faint outline of a very prominent appendage before it’s covered by the now-damp cloth as he wraps it around his waist. 

Brilliant mocha-colored eyes meet yours, the center of a controlled, measured look that gives absolutely nothing away. “Easy, Cap,” Ollie whispers a moment before you feel her hand grazing along your jaw.

You firmly snap your gaping mouth shut.

“I wish I had better news to share with you. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the storm you attempted to sail through was not a kind one. You’re fortunate to be alive, the both of you.”

“Holy Shining Seas,” Ollie mumbles, her fingers crossing over her chest in a sign meant to ward off evil. It’s an automatic gesture, one she does without thought, ingrained in her from a young age; well before she met the fates of the streets.

Your fingers itch to make their own sign. The few weeks you spent with Sister Agatha in the convent are ones sorely hard to forget, even at the best of times. You’ve never been religious, far from it. But those two weeks made you feel closer to hell than the deepest trench of the ocean ever could.

Clenching your fingers closed in the quilt beneath you, your mouth pops open instead. “Y-you…wait, you—is that? Was that—you, uh, your—your skin,” the last word comes out barely louder than a whisper. 

Hoseok stands and crosses the room, snagging a pair of trousers from an open chest. He tosses them at the newcomer, firmly scolding him, “You know better than to skin shift in front of humans. Why didn’t you come in through the central lagoon?”

At that moment another voice filters through the room, coming from the same direction Hoseok had entered through. Your eyes flick away from the first unknown male to the empty doorway, a second before a tall, silver-haired man wearing pants far too short for him, and nothing else appears. In his hands is a worn red cap.

“I told Jimin it was a bad idea. But, you know how he is, a will stronger than the southern currents.”

The stranger with the calculating gaze—Jimin, it seems—rolls his eyes and huffs out an annoyed breath. “Would rather rip it out like an urchin barb, Namjoon, get it over with. Better that way in the long of it, considering our visitors will be here for quite some time.”

Namjoon. Jimin. Hoseok. Your eyes flick between the three strangers, noting the same sense you got from Hoseok earlier also radiates from the other two. As you watch them exchange heated words, the low timbre of their voices making their words hard to discern, Jimin tugs on the trousers Hoseok threw at him, and you realize what that odd feeling is. They’re…perfect. Too perfect, otherworldly.

It’s unnerving.

And now you’re sure you know why. As plain as the pearlescent scales and tail, the truth screams at you from the smooth skin of their foreheads to the perfectly straight, white teeth behind their rose-hued lips. No mere human could be so pristine. Clearly, the bewitching nature of a siren isn’t just exaggerated prose reserved for their voices.

“Is that Red’s cap?” Ollie asks, her voice low, meant only for your ears.

You force your eyes away from studying their faces to the crumpled lump clasped in Namjoon’s hands. It’s a detail your brain registered earlier but clearly was too muddled to fully comprehend.

“Where did you find that?” you ask, but you are only met with silence in response. The three males are still caught up in their soft bickering. You give Ollie a sidelong look, your face pinched in a frown before demanding louder, “Excuse me!”

Your barked words echo through the chamber, rebounding ten-fold and making even you wince at the sharp, biting sound.

“Where did you find that?” Ollie’s voice fills the sudden silence as she nods her head at the red cap in Namjoon’s grip.

Namjoon loosens his hold on the worn red fabric, the once vibrant carmine faded by the salt and sun to a tawny vermilion. An unmistakable blob of golden thread peeks out from one of the edges where Jory ‘Red’ Meander had haphazardly tried to stitch together a hole put there by a disgruntled card companion.

He had a penchant for gambling, not always with honest intentions, either. A scoundrel with a quick smile and charming hazel eyes. Despite being barely old enough to be let loose from his mother’s skirts, Jory joined your crew mere weeks before you got it in your head to chart a course for Black Rock Bay, demanding with a puffed-out chest that everyone refer to him as ‘Red’, like the color of his hat and the blood spilled at the end of his rapier, from here on out. Said it was a better-suited name for a future pirate mogul than Jory.

A few nights into your journey towards Black Roy Back, as you sat with Red in the crow’s nest watching the moon slip through the sky, he confessed that he actually chose the name Red because it reminded him of his mother with her fiery red hair and spit-fire attitude. But he figured that wouldn’t be a very pirate-like reason. He honestly had no business on your ship…but you were desperate for a full crew and, well—

“I-uh, I found it on the beach…I followed your footsteps back through the jungle.” Namjoon clears his throat before stepping close and offering the cap to you. “There was a man…a boy, really. His body—I’m sorry.”

You hesitantly take the hat. The soft fabric flops over the back of your hand, and a memory flashes through your mind. Red screaming at you, the stupid hat he refused to ever take off, sluicing the stinging water into his eyes, hauling you bodily through the turbulent water. Red forcing you above water, pleading with you to hold on…

Tears fill your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. Anger replaces the hurt pounding away in your chest. You will not fall apart now…not when…fuck. You furiously wipe at your eyes, sniffing back the burn welling in your nose. Red would laugh and waggle his brows at you if he knew you were getting choked up over him.

“Have you found others? Bodies, I mean.”

Jimin and Namjoon share a look, an exchange of words without making a sound.

Red. Jameson. McLaughlin. Straub. Okiro.

From the descriptions provided to you by Namjoon and Jimin, you mentally etch their names into your psyche. Men whose loyalty you once questioned are now forever lost to this world because of your petty grievances and selfish desires. And more yet to be confirmed…

You worry the edge of your thumbnail, fisting the red cap in your other hand over and over.

“Maybe ya should eat somethin’, Cap.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at Ollie right now, lest you might not be able to fight back the tears any longer. “I’m fine, Ol.”

“Some rest then,” Jimin says. “Hoseok, if you take Olivia to the storage room, you might be able to find her something a bit more fitting to wear in the alder chest, the one with the iron straps. You know which I mean?”

Hoseok makes an agreeable sound. You snap out of your stupor enough to realize Ollie stands up without so much as a mutterance of protest. In fact, she almost seemed eager as she took Hoseok’s hand, and he pulled her to her feet. There is a look on her face that you’ve never seen there before…it almost looks like longing. But that can’t be because that’s absolutely absurd. However, there she goes, giving you a girlish wave and mumbling, “Later, Cap. Get some rest, ‘k?”, as she allows Hoseok to lead her from the room.

“Wait, Ol—”

But just like that, Ollie walks out without so much as a backward glance before you can get the protest out of your mouth, her focus now solely on the male at her side. She has that same silly, infatuated look on her face.

And now you’re alone—alone with two strange males who are looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing they’ve ever come across. Perhaps you are…but most likely, they’re trying to come up with the best way to pick your bones clean.

You can feel the heat drain from your face, receding from the tips of your fingers and toes, turning into a wash of icy chills down your spine. You’ve heard enough songs about this…you know what happens next, yet you can’t get your body to do what you want it to. All you can do is stare, your eyes moving between the two males, your fingers holding a death grip on Red’s cap.

“Hungry?” Jimin asks, his eyes flicking to Namjoon.

Something is wrong…something is very wrong.

The taller male tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding up and down your seated form. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m hungry.”

You swallow hard, trying not to let the sudden wave of fear curdling in your belly show. Maybe Red should have just let the sea take you…

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon) ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-12-31 ColorMePurplex2

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

The Sea Boy (Hannigram AU)

Explicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Tags: Alternate Universe, Merfolk AU, historical AU, Count Hannibal Lecter, Merman Will Graham, first kiss, time skip, reunions, injury, injury recovery, getting to know each other, falling in love, fluff and smut, happy ending.

The sailor spoke in a lower tone, “It is a lucky thing to see merfolk. But remember, how you treat them decides whether that be bad luck, or good luck for ye.”

Latest installment on my @hannibalbingo card: Harpy Knife Also for: MerMay 2024

Chapter One (2.8k words):

On a fishing trip with his father, young Hannibal meets the sea boy for the first time.

___________________________________________________________

Hannibal had been so young when his father first taught him how to fish that it felt like he always knew. Together with some of the staff and the gamekeeper, they fished regularly on the Lecter estate, and always cooked their catch. 

Whilst he remembered the excursions fondly, they fished so often that the memories became a blur. Years later only one truly would stand out in his mind, because it was one of the times they left the estate and went to the coast for a proper outing. And on this particularly memorable occasion, Hannibal had seen the sea boy. 

It had been a two day trip, staying overnight in an inn near the shore, and on the first day out on a small fishing vessel, Hannibal had been mesmerised by the sight of a gloriously coloured tailfin. He had spent long hours pouring over the many volumes in his father’s library on the subject of fish and other aquatic species, and this was nothing he had seen. The colour was more like that of human flesh, up to the tips which were a faint greenish-blue. And perhaps he might have thought nothing of it and studied more once home, thinking it some exotic creature, but then he discovered it was more exotic than he had expected when a mop of dark hair surfaced.

At first he had thought it some flotsam, it was dark and threaded through with seaweed. But then a face emerged, a young boy about his age, with the same greenish-blue tinge at the end of his pointed ears and highlighting his cheeks. 

Hannibal stood agape on the bow of the ship, watching as the boy watched back. They studied each other and he raised his hand in a tentative wave. The sea boy blinked at him and then his mouth split into a smile that revealed sharp, pointy teeth. 

He was too mesmerised to call out to his father, and when he and the other men brought forth the small barrels of bait, the sight and sound of them must have scared the sea boy. His smile was gone, eyes wide, he continued to look at Hannibal for just a moment, then turned back into the sea, tailfin kicking up the water after him as he dove. 

“Papa!” the spell between them broken, Hannibal found his voice. “Papa! I saw a boy in the sea. A boy with a fishtail!” 

All the men laughed heartily and Hannibal’s father ruffled his hair. “You have a vivid imagination, Hannibal.” He chuckled. 

Hannibal frowned and one of the sailors asked, “Are you sure he hasn’t been drinking the salt water.”

Another bout of laughter went up, this time a little more cruel, until there were three hard thuds on the deck and the sailors went quiet and back to their business. 

Hannibal looked over to where the sound had come from and one of the sailors - an old man, much older than any of the others - sat on a low bench. He had a scar across his face, a pipe in his mouth and had knocked on the deck with a large stick that he used for walking. 

“You ignore these fools,” The old sailor told Hannibal. “These waters are filled with all manner of things that sailors should fear. Them things of this world, and of others.” He raised his voice so the other sailors had to hear him. “They’d all do well to be more mindful of the sea.”

There were a few grumbles under their breath but no one spoke directly to the old man, who then grabbed Hannibal by the back of his collar and pulled him closer, close enough that his nose was filled with the scent of the damp tobacco. The sailor spoke in a lower tone, “It is a lucky thing to see merfolk. But remember, how you treat them decides whether that be bad luck, or good luck for ye.”

Hannibal swallowed and nodded, almost losing his balance when the sailor let go of him and waved him away. 

That encounter might have been memorable in itself, but it was the evening that Hannibal remembered with most clarity. 

It was a small fishing town they were staying in, and nowhere was far from the water. As the sailors drank and made merry in the inn, his father sat in his room going over charts with the captain, discussing the plans for the next day. No one seemed to notice that Hannibal was not in his room, and perhaps presumed him asleep. But instead, curious, he snuck out the inn and made his way down to the harbour. He sat on the solid stone part of the pier and looked out to the water, the waves lapping a few feet beneath him - noisy in their tidal movement. 

He noticed the change in sound, the slap of the waves against the stone of the wall lost rhythm. He frowned and looked down, finding the sea boy beneath him, slapping his hand against the stone to attract attention. 

Hannibal took in a sharp, excited breath and immediately scrambled to lie on the floor, hanging a little over the edge to smile down at the boy. 

Continue reading on AO3!

[gentlemancrow]

F and S for the fic asks!

[Answering prompts from here if you want!! :D]

OHHHH dialogue is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE THING to write so thank you for that one!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I am still pretty in love with this exchange from "In Scientia, Magicae"!

“I managed just fine before you.  I hadn’t even gotten hurt in ages before you,” he groused, eyes flicking back up to meet Martin’s, “And if you weren’t such an insufferable fussbudget, you’d realize I don’t need or want your help in the first place!  I never did!”

The linguistic arrow struck Martin square in the chest, jaw dropping in shock while the proverbial fletching quivered at his sternum.

“A fussbudget?  Are you actually serious right now?  I wanted nothing more than to help you!  To tend to your ghastly wounds!  And I’m an insufferable fussbudget?” he cried indignantly, “Fine!  Just fine!  Did you ever stop to think maybe I wouldn’t have to be so fussy if I had half a clue what you even wanted from me here?”

“Well if you were halfway competent as an archival assistant and not cheerfully traipsing into every little trap, or pitfall, or sucker punch the archives has to offer, perhaps you wouldn’t have to wonder so hard what I might want from you!” The Archivist answered viciously.

It was Martin’s turn to snarl, leveling a furious finger at his demonic opponent.

“Well maybe if you would just tell me more about how the archives work and what the hell I’m up against instead of leaving me alone to figure everything out by accident all the time, I wouldn’t get into so much trouble!”

The Archivist lowered his head so he was eyelevel with his assistant, serpentine tongue rolling spitefully in his susurrating elocution.

“Well if you had even a crumb of brain between your ears and would listen to my ample warnings about the archives… If you weren’t constantly running afoul of deadly fear demons like a moth to flame, I wouldn’t have to constantly save you and get you out of that trouble!”

A second arrow pierced Martin’s heart, and this time it shattered, spilling all the venom and all the blood boiling within in a black cascade of sloshing, viscous loathing into his own gut.

“You shouldn’t have done that…” he murmured dully, bowing his head.

The Archivist blinked rapidly in shock to be knocked so jarringly from their verbal sparring, and sat back upright on the bench, cocking his antlered skull quizzically at the suddenly defeated Martin.

“What?  What do you mean I shouldn’t have done that?” he sputtered dumbly, “I shouldn’t have saved you?  Don’t be daft.  Was I supposed to just allow you to be sliced up for mincemeat by bad taxidermy?”

“Yes…!” Martin snapped with miserable sincerity, “Then at least you’d have an easy excuse to hire someone else as your assistant.  Someone competent at least.  Someone you actually want here.”

The Archivist faded inwardly, white bone as chipped porcelain, an incorporeal vice cranked one rusted gear tooth tighter around his choked heart.  The ethereal green light in his eyes dimmed, and the second pair above them opened eagerly to take their place.

“Do you… truly think me that much of a monster…?” he asked in a soft, husky voice.

I love it for a lot of reasons! Just because banter/arguments are SO much fun to write and this one turned out so spicy and electric! And also because this was ABSOLUTELY an homage to the Disney Beauty and the Beast movie if anyone caught it hehe. And lastly this was a culmination of Jon and Martin circling each other and then FINALLY having it out and then they both sort of bust through each other's walls at the same moment? This was the real watershed moment of the chapter/fic where they break each other down and start building something new from the rubble and yeah ; w ;

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Oh this one is easy, fantasy AUs. My BELOVED my absolute JAM! All of you who have turned Jmart into faeries or merfolk or shapeshifters or wizards or dragons what have you I love you so much please send me recs for any of these fics I may have missed since I am fairly new to the fandom! I am in my 30's and still lowkey hope my life will become isekai some day haha!

[main-to-card-games-and-pain]

IronDad Bingo 6: Merpeople

Oh wow it’s been a while eh? I have missed writing IronDad, maybe that’s why this one is THE LONGEST OF THEM ALL. Also, this AU was straight up ridiculously fun to write. I wish I could do a full on fic for it. Please tell me what you thought of it, and what square you want me to do next! Also, please, please, please, do not be shy with my inbox, I love hearing from you all and responding to all the HCs or otherwise you send me! <3 

The water rippled with anticipation as the young merman approached the surface. He wanted to break the glass, press upwards and destroy the resistance, bridge the two worlds of Above and Below. 

His fingers stretched till they tickled the surface before hastily retracting. His eyes adjusted to the sun, it was so much brighter up there than Below. He wanted to feel warmth, true warmth, unlike the kind below the water, but he couldn’t. 

Above was forbidden. 

Peter flipped over in the water, letting his tail scrape the edge, he’d yet to ever pierce the surface. 

The youngling had to go soon, Tony was expecting him and he couldn’t risk staying still for too long and letting a human spot him. 

The waters around him were turquoise blue and perfectly crystal, and while Peter did love to admire its beauty staying too close to the surface was dangerous because even human eyes could see to a certain degree under the water. 

He wished that Above wasn’t so infested with humans, Peter hated them; humans killed his parents, they murdered them in cold blood. 

That’s why he lived with Tony now, the Royal Prince of Innovation had found him as an infant and taken him in. He’d basically grown up with the Prince as his father, but he didn’t call him that (sometimes he wished he did). 

Tony Stark was aloof, as far as mermen go. He didn’t like going out for grand parties and celebrations like the other royals did. Peter knew that at some point in his past he did, but not anymore. Now, he kept to himself, making new inventions for the kingdom and trying to stay out of the public’s eye. 

As far as guardians go though, Mr.Stark was great; he did his best and always had, he didn’t really show conventional affection but he always made sure Peter knew that he was looking out for him and that he had worth. It was just… when your mate dies it can be hard to find love again, of any kind, even for a child. Peter understood.  

Ms.Potts was killed by humans too. 

Peter dove downwards, leaving the surface and its mysteries behind him. 

“Hi, Mr.Stark,” Peter called as he entered their dwelling, casually slipping himself into the lab. “Sorry, I’m late, I got caught up in something.” 

He found the Prince where he always found him, bent over a lab bench, slaving over his newest project. The room was brightly lit, made completely of sandstone and equipped with all the latests innovations. (Peter knew it was nothing like the brightness of the sun.) Tony’s red-scaled tail still glimmered, casting iridescent threads of light over the lab. The blue mechanical scales he’d developed for himself glowed brightly against the glimmering tones of red.

“Where were you ‘getting caught up in something’ kid?” The inventor didn’t look up from his newest invention but Peter knew he could feel the vibrations in the water, giving his position in the lab away. 

“I was out exploring, same as always.” 

“Wandering around the borders doesn’t count as exploring, Peter.” His voice was stern but the youngling knew Mr.Stark was hiding a grin. 

“It does if I’ve never been there before,” Peter retorted, grinning cheekily. He swished over to the lab bench, peering over his guardian’s shoulder. “Whatcha working on?”

Tony grunted, “improved formula for the structural regeneration compound we developed last year.” 

Frowning, Peter looked over his notes. “Does it not work?” 

“Oh no, it works, but apparently the regeneration is taking longer than expected.” Tony rolled his eyes, Peter smirked. 

“They do know it would take double the amount of time without the current formula right?” 

“Of course they do, but ‘everything can be improved upon,’” Tony quoted, pretending to gag. “It’s not like I’ve got problems of my own, like rearing a foolhardy youngling for one.” 

“Hey,” Peter protested, “it’s just a stupid technicality that I’m still considered a youngling, the Age of Maturity should really be 80, not 85. Like really, what’s up with that?” 

“Ask Howard, kid, maybe he’ll do something about it. Also, that’s what you’re arguing? Your age and not the foolhardiness?” 

“Well I mean, there’s salient evidence for that one, so as a scientist I cannot dispute it.” Tony almost let himself grin, the corners of his lip twitching in amusement. “Besides,” the kid grumbled, “Howard doesn’t like me.” 

Tony stilled, casting a glance at his ward. “He doesn’t like me much either, kid, don’t worry about it.” 

“I wish my tail looked more like yours,” Peter mumbled, flicking himself away from the bench to float just above Tony’s head. “Yours is so beautiful.” 

“You don’t want your tail to be like mine,” Tony bit, “they’re damaged.” Tony had completely abandoned the project at this point, angling himself completely at his ward. 

Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes, already regretting his words. He hated reminding Mr.Stark of the attack that had claimed his mate and the functionality of about 40% of his scales and therefore tail. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” the boy whispered, “it’s just - I don’t know - Howard sees my tail and I think it reminds him I’m not supposed to be here.” 

Peter’s tail alternated blue and red every other scale; blue from his birth parents and red from Tony. Adopted children were easy to pick out in Below, since scales developed their colour half from upbringing and half from the merfolk’s bloodline. 

“I went my whole life trying to make Howard happy Peter,” Tony muttered, “I don’t want you wasting yours caring what he thinks. You belong here because I said so.” 

Peter nodded stiffly and bid his guardian goodbye, gently swimming away. 

Once he was sure Peter’s vibrations had faded Tony banged his hands against his workbench angrily. Peter deserved so much better than Tony had ever given him and - fuck - he was trying but he didn’t know what to do to make himself show Peter how much he loved him. 

“You belong here because you’re my son” was what he should’ve- wanted to - say. 

Peter moved languidly through the water, lost in his thoughts. He felt the ripples of the other residents of the palace as they moved around him, no one giving him a second glance. It was basically an unspoken rule that every one should ignore the Prince’s whelp. 

That’s why Peter wasn’t expecting something to collide into his path. Or not something, someone. 

“Oh, I, uh, I’m sorry!” The youngling squeaked, head whipping up to see who he’d knocked into. And of course, because Peter Luck, it was Howard Stark; King of Below. “Your Majesty!” Peter fell into a bow. “My most sincere apologies.” 

“Oh, it’s you, boy,” Howard sneered, making no effort to hide his displeasure at the youngling’s presence. “I haven’t seen you around lately, you’ve grown.” 

Howard hadn’t seen Peter since he was 80, Peter was 83 now. To be fair, Peter avoided the king just as much as the king despised him. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Peter whispered. 

“It wasn’t necessarily a compliment.” Peter stayed silent, his head bowed. He flinched when Howard’s arm wrapped itself around his shoulder. “I’m just joking, smile a bit. You have, after all, been under my son’s wing for… what? Seventy years now?” 

“Seventy-five, my lord.” 

“Yes…” Howard started moving again, dragging Peter with him. “He’s had you for quite some time now.” 

“He’s the only parent I’ve ever known, sire.” 

The pair abruptly stopped. Peter’s breath hitched. 

“He’s not your parent, boy.” Peter grimaced as the king tightened his grip uncomfortably around his shoulders. “He may have taken you in like a stray but he is not your father. Just because he was mourning his mate and the unborn whelp in her womb and decided to do something stupid like keep you does not make you family, you do not belong here and you are most certainly no heir of mine,” Howard hissed cruelly. 

Peter nodded quickly, trying to control the tears spilling from his eyes. 

“Now leave me,” Howard commanded, “I grow bored of your presence.” 

Peter didn’t hesitate to obey. Howard’s words stayed with him though, and not only his cruel remarks aimed at the youngling but “the unborn whelp in her womb”; Mr.Stark had never told Peter Ms.Potts was with child when she was lost. 

“Peter,” Mr.Stark’s voice made Peter flinch in surprise. 

Mr.Stark never came to Peter’s room, what was going on? It was Peter’s little sanctuary, he spent a majority of his time either here, in the lab, or out watching the surface. It was turquoise like the water near Above, and large enough for whatever Peter may want, filled with equipment for various hobbies. 

“Sir?” Peter surveyed his guardian for any hints that something may be wrong. “Was there something you needed?” 

“You weren’t at midday meal, kid, I wondered where you were,” Tony answered. The Prince swam past the entrance and further into his chambers, taking the seat next to his ward. He could see it unsettled the youngling to see his guardian here and felt his heart clench at the fact. 

“I-I just got distracted and lost track of time. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” 

Peter eyed his guardian warily, thoroughly confused and still shaken from his encounter with the king. 

“I’m okay,” the boy swallowed. Tony’s eyes flickered to what he was working on and flashed his eyes with recognition. 

“Got caught up in drawing?” He asked warmly, shuffling through some of the papyrus drawings strewn about Peter’s desk. 

“Yes,” Peter murmured, turning his head away from his guardian. 

Tony looked through a few more of the drawings, admiring Peter’s talent for realism, when he noticed something in one of them. The Prince felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. 

“Peter,” his voice was suddenly tight, Peter looked at him worriedly, glancing at the revealing drawing. “What is this?” 

Peter’s mouth dropped as if to answer, but Tony cut him off before he got the chance. 

“Because it looks like those are sun-etchings, and that looks the surface line.” 

There was nothing Peter could say to dispute the claims. The lines the sun made underwater, the so called sun-etchings were there, plain as day, as was the line where the surface split a rock into two worlds. And for someone to see those two things they had to be exceptionally close to Above. 

“I’ve never touched Above, I swear,” Peter rushed. 

Mr.Stark’s eyes flashed, “Peter,” he hissed. “You know the law.” 

“I just said that I’ve never-”

“Our border ends at the Line of Visibility!” 

“I was just curious-”

“No. No, I do not want to hear your excuses right now. You could be whipped for this.” 

“You’re going to tell Howard?” Peter’s breathing picked up, panic creeping into his heart. His gills fluttered frantically, tellingly.  

“You think I would tell Howard about this? Poseidon Peter, no, I’m not going to tell Howard. But  this is serious, what possessed you to even think about going up there? Humans could have seen you, you could have been killed.” 

“Don’t you want to know what the sun feels like? Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” Peter was desperate for Tony to agree with him, empathize with him, he couldn’t handle another reminder that he was the freak of them all here.

“No,” Tony hissed, “I don’t care what it looks or feels like up there, and from this day on neither do you.” 

“Mr.Stark, please,” Peter begged, his eyes growing wide with desperation. 

“No,” Tony roared. Peter flinched and a stab of guilt drove through the inventor’s gut, he took a few breaths and lowered his voice. “No. Consider this your one and only warning, you are not to go anywhere near Above again, I am not losing another-”

“Another what?” Peter found his anger and cut his guardian off. “I know I was meant to be some kind of replacement but that obviously didn’t work out, so what am I?” 

His words shocked Tony into silence, his mouth gaping open. “Peter - what?” 

“I know that Ms.Potts was going to have a baby, but she… and then you found me and I was what? Some kind of second prize? Supposed to replace what you lost? And then you obviously figured out that I wasn’t the son you wanted so you just - I don’t know - figured you’d keep me around until I reached the Age and your obligations would be finished?” 

“No Peter, that’s not-”

“Would you have kept me if you hadn’t just lost your own family?” 

“I…” Tony wanted to deny everything, grab Peter and hold him as tight as possible, and express years of love to him right there. But he didn’t. He stayed silent, searching for words that wouldn’t come. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Before Mr.Stark could stop him Peter had launched away from his desk and slipped through his window, swimming away with powerful tail-strokes, leaving bubbles in his frantic guardian’s wake. 

Tony had gone after Peter as soon as he’d snapped out of his stupor, but even that minuscule amount of time was enough to give Peter enough of a head start that the Prince had to guess where he’d gone. 

And shamefully he admitted he had almost no clue, he really was a terrible guardian. 

Until it occurred to him that Peter might have gone back to the origin of this entire debacle, Above. He clutched the drawing close to his chest and swam upwards, looking for that specific rock formation. 

The inventor could feel the moment he passed through the Line of Visibility, like a cord had been cut and he was left vulnerable and scared and too close to Above. 

“Tony!” His wife’s voice, screaming in panic, scrambling for a hold on his arm. 

“Pepper get back!” 

And he was in the human contraption, the net, it was tearing at his scales and it hurt, it hurt so much- it was excruciating. 

Pepper’s hand caught his and his mind cleared, replaced with all-consuming fear as she put herself in harm’s way. She was trying to tear the net with her fingers, her green tail spasming with the effort. 

“Pepper, no! Get back! Swim-!”

She gasped, and for a second everything was still okay, and then the water started to turn red. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her grip was suddenly lax in Tony’s. 

“No, no, no, no, Pep. Pep come on, you’re okay, you’re okay, right? TELL ME YOU’RE OKAY.” 

But she wasn’t, they killed her, they killed his wife; speared her in the back mercilessly, like she was an animal. 

Tony returned to himself with a gasp, dilated eyes focussing on his surroundings. He’d been dreaming of that day for seventy-nine years now, but they’d morphed in the past seventy to include Peter, his son. 

Who he needed to find, right now. 

Tony felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders when he spotted Peter’s tell-tail red and blue scales reflecting in the water. 

“Peter!” The kid looked up from his place on the sandy ocean floor, where he was laying and watching the surface ripple. There was no sun today, but it wasn’t nighttime for the humans either. A steep drop-off was a few metres to his left, Tony wanted desperately to pull him down it and past the Line of Visibility again. 

Instead he bit back his fear and approached the youngling, setting himself beside him against the sand. 

“You scared me kid,” he breathed. 

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, not turning to face Tony. “You can’t tell me it isn’t beautiful,” he whispered. “Look at it.” 

Tony looked. 

It was beautiful, unlike anything you could find in Below, he remembered why he and Pepper had been so close to the surface that day. 

“You’re right.” Peter, who was expecting more arguing, whipped his head to look at Tony. “I’m sorry for how I reacted, Pete, I just-”

“What’s that?” 

Peter was looking over his shoulder, at something behind him. The youngling sat up and began swimming over to it curiously. Tony glanced backwards and felt panic unlike any he’d felt in seventy-nine years. 

The looming mass of darkness was a ship. 

Tony shot off after his kid, a desperate shout escaping his throat. “Peter, no!” 

Maybe it was his tone, or the volume, but Peter listened. He stopped and turned toward Tony just as the net was launched at him. 

Tony remembered the pain of his scales being ripped away from his tail, Peter would not feel that pain. He reached the youngling just in time, wrapping his arms around his chest and forcing him away from the net with his body. He panted with exertion, throwing a glance upwards at the ship. 

They were too high up, the humans could see them. “Let’s go kid, we need to swim.” 

Peter nodded, flicking his tail anxiously. Guardian and ward sat up and started to escape by keeping as flat to the ocean floor as they could, but the net came back persistently, and this time Mr.Stark couldn’t save Peter from it. 

The boy let out a terrified scream as he was yanked back, desperately trying to move a tail that wouldn’t move anymore. He’d never had his tail restrained before, it was terrible and it only added to the boy’s panic. 

“Mr.Stark!” Peter was being pulled away from his guardian too quickly, Mr.Stark wasn’t going to be able to catch him, but still he screamed for him. “Mr.Stark, please!” 

“I’m coming, kid, I’m coming,” Mr.Stark called back, and Peter could see how hard Mr.Stark was swimming, but it wasn’t going to be enough. 

Tony was not going to lose his family again. 

He reached the net just as they pulled Peter from out of the water. 

“No!” 

Peter struggled in the net, floundering and tangling himself further in its snare. There was no water, everything dropped so heavily and he couldn’t breathe, his gills were desperately searching for oxygen that they couldn’t get. He couldn’t float, and everything was sticking to him. 

He hit the deck with an impact unlike he’d ever felt before. It was coarse and itchy and something he didn’t know the word for but it hurt because there was no water. 

The net was ripped away and with it a few of Peter’s scales, he bit back the cry that threatened to escape and tried desperately to get back into the water. 

Ropes circled his wrists and pulled them together, and soon his fin was in a similar position, the men yelling things Peter couldn’t understand. His heart pounding in his ears and he couldn’t breathe. 

He wanted Mr.Stark.  

He was going to die. 

Tony burst from the water, in a jump unlike any Peter had seen in his life. He’d once watched dolphins breach the surface, Mr.Stark resembled them except with much more power, and he was infinitely more graceful. 

His guardian landed on the deck amongst the startled shouts of the men, baring his teeth at them while slicing at Peter’s bindings. Peter had the startling realization that the makeshift dagger he used were made of his mechanical scales. He’d pulled them away from his tail and pressed them together into the sharp shape. 

His face betrayed none of the no doubt excruciating agony he must be feeling right now. 

Peter felt himself be released and bolted to the ship’s edge as well as he could. There was an opening he thought he might be able to fit through but Mr.Stark was still- and the humans were closing in and they had weapons… 

“Peter, go,” Mr.Stark screamed, desperation tinging his voice. “Go! Swim!” 

“Mr.Stark, no! I can’t!” 

Something flashed through Peter’s vision, Tony saw it. He remembered what it was, what it did. No. 

He launched himself at Peter, pushing him away and closer to the ship’s opening. 

The spear ripped through Tony’s side. 

Peter screamed. 

The thing is, merfolk’s voices aren’t meant for humans to understand. It sounds otherworldly to them, screeching if they’re in distress and melodious if they’re just talking. A merfolk’s scream? Humans can’t handle it at all. 

Some of the men gasped, holding their heads in pain as their ears bled. Some fell to the deck, dead.  

It was enough to give the mermen enough of a reprieve to slip through the opening. Peter clasped his hands around his guardian and pulled them both through the hole, gasping in relief as gravity carried them back into the water. 

Peter grabbed his father’s hand and swam until he couldn’t swim anymore, until he was completely shrouded in the darkness of Below.

“Mr.Stark?” The boy tentatively tried, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the abyss. “Please say something, Mr.Stark…” 

A ribbon of blood was trailing out of his guardian’s side, along with countless threads from where his mechanical scales had been ripped away. 

Mr.Stark groggily blinked his eyes, to Peter’s relief. “Pe-Peter, you’re okay?” 

Peter nodded, a lump forming in his throat. Mr.Stark smiled, bringing a hand up to Peter’s cheek. “Tha’s good, tha’s all I wanted…” His eyes drifted shut. 

“No,” Peter encouraged, grabbing his hand and pulling him along again, sure that he could get them to the medical wing in time for his guardian to be saved. “No, stay awake with me Mr.Stark. We’ll get you help.” 

“Pet’r,” Tony mumbled, “Pet’r I hav’ t’ tell you, I love you, so, so much. You are my son. ‘m sorry I was so bad a’ showin’ you.”

Tears flowed unbidden from the younglings eyes, his words stolen to make room for his sobs. “I love you too Mr.Stark, please stay with me.” 

Tony nodded his head bonelessly. “I’ll try Pete, wha’ever you want.” 

“Peter.” Peter looked up from his desk, where he’d listlessly been sketching for hours. “Get up.” 

“I don’t feel like doing anything,” he muttered. “I just want to stay here.” 

“You’ll enjoy this.” 

“No, I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“You’ve been cooped up in the palace for three months, you need to get out.” 

“I said I don’t want to.”  

“I’m your father, so unfortunately kid, I get the last say this time.”

Peter’s eyes immediately found the still red scar along Tony’s torso, which was there because of Peter. 

“I don’t want to do anything.” 

“Tough luck this time Pete, because we’re doing this. It’s time you got out of the palace.” 

Of course Tony knew the real reason Peter didn’t want to leave the palace. He knew that his anxiety would increase tenfold whenever he tried, thanks to their little ordeal with the ship. But it wasn’t healthy to let that fester without any healing, he should know. He didn’t want Peter to become like him.

Peter relented, nodding minutely at his guardian and swimming gently towards him. Again, Peter’s eyes found the scar, and then the small scales that had been replaced. He couldn’t see them anymore without thinking about the ship. 

“Close your eyes,” Tony murmured into his ear. “Trust me.” 

Peter complied, letting the Prince slip a blindfold over his eyes and lead him towards their destination. He felt when they left his sanctuary, his gills fluttered in protest. Tony rubbed circles on his back comfortingly until he calmed down and they kept going. 

It seemed like hours before they stopped and Tony removed the blindfold, keeping a gentle grip on Peter as he did. 

Peter soon found out why, because when the blindfold was off his eyes automatically adjusted to how bright it was, and it was bright because-

“No, no, no Mr.Stark I don’t want to be here, I want to go home.” They were near the surface. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Tony hummed into his ear, pulling him into an embrace. “It’s okay.”

“No. No, we need to go, the humans-”

“Can’t find us here.” Tony smiled, watching as Peter’s eyes darted around suspiciously. “It’s a cavern Pete, the top of it is open so we can see the sun, but to humans it just looks like a lot of rocks.” 

This calmed Peter, slightly. 

“W-why are we here,” he asked quietly, “I thought you said-”

“We aren’t making a habit out of this, but I think this is what we both need. Look Pete,” he pointed to a particularly bright spot, streaming through the water. Tony gently guided Peter closer to the surface. “Want to feel the sun?” 

Peter’s eyes widened, his head whipping towards his guardian in shock. Part of him desperately wanted to say yes, parted of him wanted to leave right now and go back as far Below as possible. 

His fingers hesitantly reached for the water line, stretching till they tickled the surface before hastily retracting. 

“No, I don’t want to feel the sun anymore.” 

Tony took his hand softly and guided it towards the surface. “It’s okay Peter.” 

Peter held his breath, letting Tony bring their fingers to the edge of the water. 

The inventor left them there, the final decision left to Peter. 

Together they felt the sunlight. 

taglist: 

@just-the-daydreamer @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @ladyreyreigns  @thetranslucentwallaby @friendly-neighborhood-ash @delphinium2 @the-persian-slipper @shoyzz-art @four-am-fangirling

[shakingshore]

Eleven x Rose Mermaid AU. I’m a sucker for this ship and I’m a sucker for Mermaid AUs.

John Smith passes by the shark sanctuary at the aquarium, casually running a hand through the touch pool where the smaller of the species live. The creatures follow the path of his hand like affectionate puppies, which he knew Amy was envious of even if she would never admit it.

He tells her that, with enough time, the sea life would grow closer to her as well. He worked at this aquarium for years, liking the area and it’s environment for the creatures. She just said that he was probably a wizard or something.

He stops at the recovery tank, one of the largest ones they had so they had enough room to exercise their healing injuries, and takes a seat on the viewing bench next to it. The blonde figure swims up to him as usual. “Hello, Miss Rose. How’s the tail today?”

The mermaid lifts her tail and shows the healing wound, where the flesh had broken from the force of a wrecked ship. There were net marks still visible around her neck and arms. Her smile is radiant as she looks down from where she is floating. Her tail is a deep blue, shimmering with gold, and she twirls with it as if to prove her strength.

John lifts the sketchbook and pencil in his hands and he watches as her lips move enthusiastically around foreign words. He settles in with his back to her, so she can watch as he draws the various creatures in the aquarium, as well as scenery from the town outside of the walls.

He could spend hours there with her and that book, occasionally with the few visitors they had that were curious about his drawings and the mermaid behind him. By now, the tourist-focused aquariums had more entertaining exhibits with the merfolk, so it’s not anything new to see them, but John’s retelling of their history and lifestyle cultivates a small crowd around them. Rose is more than happy to show her skills in the water, even going up to the children at the bottom of the glass.

They became a team, of sorts, during her stay there, finding a peace as steady as the ocean current.

[snorlaxlovesme]

WIP game: bright, wish, genuine, bubble, moment

99+1 (a fic basically throwing out the entire plot of soul eater and just showing what life could have been like if soul and maka were just two regular kids at the DWMA trying to collect 99 kishin souls)

“Okay! Stabbing is not working, so stop giving me motionsickness for nothing!”

Maka knows that Soul is right, but his attitude is gratingon her nerves. She turns him upright to shout directly into his blade. “Wellwhat’s your big plan, huh? I don’t hear you coming up with any bright ideas!”

Shitty Prom AU (me and Aila’s fic lovechild. all the teens of FMA:B going to prom together, feat. Ed/Ling, Lan Fan/Paninya, and Al and Winry as platonic dates)

Ed only stabbed Ling with the boutonniere pin twice.

“Why do boys have to have pins for their flowers?” hegrumbled as the red rose drooped slightly from Ling’s jet black lapel.  He wished he would have looked up a Youtubetutorial or something beforehand. “Why can’t ours be attached to littlescrunchies like the girls’ flowers?”

“Scrunchies?” Lan Fan repeated, confused.

“Corsages, Ed, they’re called corsages.” Alphonse whispered.

Babysitter AU (wayyyy old plot bunny with Soul babysitting 6ish year old Maka)

Soul’s smile is mostly genuine when he responds. “Congrats,Wes. I’m happy you got in. University of New Haven isn’t gonna know what hit‘em when you show up with all your new skills.” He unpauses his DS and goesback to his Pokémon battle, hoping this conversation is over.

“And this is where my favor comes in. I—”

“There’s no way I’m doing anything involving music. You knowthat, so I don’t know why you’re bothering asking.”

Little Mermaid AU (a Soul Eater fic that I highly doubt I’ll ever get around to finishing, so just take all of it)

When morning broke the sea was calm, lapping gently alongthe sand-dusted shoreline in tiny ripples—stark contrast to the way the waterraged the night before. But now it all was still. There was only one person onthe beach, if she could be called that, laying at the edge of the water andgulping in the morning air while observing the scene around her. The smallstrip of beach was unusually quiet, and not because the girl was alone, becauseshe wasn’t. She happened to be accompanied by some of the most loud-mouthedfish in all of Atlantica, and this was perhaps the first time the lot of themhad ever had nothing to say.

They all marveled at the way she wiggled her pink littletoes and rolled her slim ankles, watching closely as water droplets slid downthe smooth skin of her calves. The girl had just gotten around to poking ameaty part of her newly-acquired thigh when one of her companions finallyspoke.

“So is it just me, or did all that involve a lot of singing?” Liz asked, breaking thesilence with her usual snark.

“No more so than normal, I’d say,” Tsubaki answered softly.“Merfolk are known for their musical abilities; you hear them sing all thetime.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between idly singing whileyou go about your day and having a full-on musicalnumber about people being poor and unfortunate. That was just weird.”

“Maybe that was the only way the spell would work?”Patti—Liz’s younger sister—retorted, sucking in an idle gulpful of air andblowing frothy bubbles on the sea’s surface.

Tsubaki nodded. “That might be it. I mean, clearly she hadrehearsed it beforehand, she had music to go with it and everything.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “I still think it’s fishy, no punintended.”

Surprisingly, the only one to giggle at that was Maka, theaforementioned girl lying in the water. The sound was strange, just a littlepuff of air coming out of her, though her mouth was tilted up at the corners.All eyes turned to her, unsure of how to react to her newly-given form.

“So, uh,” Tsubaki tried to choose her words carefully. “Howdo you feel?”

Maka had just leaned forward when a small crab broke thesurface of the water, heaving loudly and dramatically enough to make the threefish turn around.

“How DARE you all leave me behind like that! You know it’sharder for me to swim than you, I don’t have any fins!” The crustacean crawledout of the water, dragging his exhausted claws behind him. The frown thatformed on his face when he eyed Maka’s legs was almost as loud as his shouting.“YOU. I have words to pick with you. Your father is going to be furious when hehears about your insubordination!” Maka’s eyes went wide. She shook her headwildly. “What, you don’t want to get in trouble? Well you should have thoughtof that before you let yourself be turned into a human!!” He whipped his headaround and eyed the two angelfish in the water as well. “And YOU TWO. What wereyou thinking, letting Maka get involved in something like this!”

Liz shrugged her scaly shoulders. “It’s not our job tocontrol her every move.”

“It’s yours!” Patti added brightly, which earned her amonumental scowl from Kid.

If You Can Hear Me (SE fic where Soul ends up in a coma after a mission. It’s been months, but he has yet to wake up. It’s about time for Maka to start moving on, but giving up on the one you love is impossible) (cue the dramatic violin music, god)

“This is the hardest part,” a voice says, pulling her out ofher own head. She looks up and sees her father, his mouth tipped up in a grimsmile.

She nods to the empty space beside her on the bench. “Whatis?”

He sits beside her. “The waiting. As a meister, you don’thave to do this nearly as often as the weapons do. But waiting outside the ORis the absolute worst part of being a weapon partner,” he says with a far-awaylook in his eyes.

He’s trying to distract her. Her thoughts are still on Soul,always on Soul, but she takes the bait. “Did you have to do this a lot when youwere young?”

“Not so much with Stein. He was injured all thetime, don’t get me wrong, but he did most of his own patch-ups as long as hewas able to stay conscious for it. But your mother,” he pauses, and for amoment Maka thinks it’s out of guilt, but instead sees her father shudder, hisface grave. “Your mother had a lot of close calls.” 

[sunlitmcgee]

The flirtations between two mers is quite a sight to behold(from a distance that is).

@oranboo @genlossicle @jewishdainix @vivyainou @prophecy-anon

@flamedoesart

[sunlitmcgee]

hey @oranboo guess who has the funniest idea for what sort of mers cPhil and cMumza are in this fic

[sunlitmcgee]

For your merfolk birth question well human babys are born premature compared to most other mammals because we have way higher skull tk body size ratios, which means its way harder to squeeze us through the old vag. SO evolutionarily speaking, it would probably make more sense for merfolk to have eggbirths since most mammals who give live births in the ocean also have the whole skull problem so its more advantageous for a species like a mermaid to have eggs over potential problematic live births

hello Clings! you and @softiestyx gave me the idea for This!

How to avoid horribly agonizing births when you're a species with human-sized brains but no hips? Easy! External womb that lets ya hold the kiddo outside while you swim around so they can grow all the way.

Should note that the womb is able to regrow after a while. So one mer can have multiple kids overtime, they just need wait for their body to recover after a year or so!

@oranboo hello I have more lore for ya

[sunlitmcgee]

Baby mer chommy was a little silly bebe the moment he could swim BTW. Always demanding to be held and cuddled by Wilbur. Squeaking at people when they swam past them. Wilbur would bring him into the reef so potential mates could see how "Responsible and Maternal" he was with his baby brother(being a good parent is very attractive to mers), but whenever someone would show interest and swim over, Tommy would start to nuzzle at Wil's cheek and give him lil' kisses. silly fella. silly silly little bab.

[sunlitmcgee]

Mer lore for ye all, but mostly for @oranboo

[sunlitmcgee]

they infected my brain and I had to redraw at intense speeds I love them so so much

WAHHHHH THE THEYYYYY

[sunlitmcgee]

Of course you're bisexual with brown eyes and a baby brother whose cuteness you use to get yourself laid.

(his face needs to be a bit more Pointy but it's Fine)

@oranboo @prophecy-anon @vivyainou @jewishdainix @flamedoesart

[sunlitmcgee]

@oranboo and also @genlossicle I have more Mers for Ye

[sunlitmcgee]

damn cDapduo are lookin' a bit different than I rember..