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kittenofdoomage · 3 months ago

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Neiras

THIS WORK IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY STORIES. 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

Summary: Returning to your grandmother's house on the coast brings forth a flood of memories and secrets... where will they lead you?

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Merman!Dean x fem!reader x Merman!Sam

Word Count: 6664

Warnings: alternate universe, depression, loss of family, grief, angst, merfolk, smut (monster fucking, anatomically impossible smut, sorta anatomically correct sea mammal dicks, sex in the ocean, polyamory, weird science, implied wombfucking, breeding, belly bulging), made up language, fluff (somehow, I don’t know it happened)

Canon Bay, Oregon, 2003

The sun was beginning to set, illuminating the horizon with different colors as it descended. You heard your grandmother calling, and sprinted up the beach, giggling as you crashed into the little site you’d claimed for your own earlier in the day. Now, the picnic was gone, and the air was starting to cool, making way for the evening. Under instruction to help pack up, you shook the sand out of your shoes and slipped them on, casting your attention back to the waves.

There was soft music playing from somewhere, not unusual in a busy coastal town, but it didn’t sound like an ice cream truck or one of the small rides on the pier. You listened, and your distraction from your task caught your grandmother’s attention. She called your name, and you turned your head to look at her.

��Don’t you hear that, Grandma?” you asked curiously.

Something twisted her features for a second, and then she clicked her fingers. “Come on, child, it’s just the music from the arcade.”

You knew she was lying, and somehow you knew she couldn’t hear the music. Still, she was a grown up, and probably the wisest person you knew, so you packed up, trying to ignore the sweet melody filling the air.

With everything back in the basket and bags, you followed your grandmother up the beach. As you reached the top of the sandy bank, you turned back to look at the water, pausing when you saw a human-like figure, silhouetted by the setting sun, half-submerged in the waves. You gasped, and the figure dived, splashing a tail against the surface before disappearing completely.

Your grandmother had told you tales when you were smaller about the mermaids that lived in the bay. You vividly remembered your Aunt Sylvia talking about them, believing firmly that they were real, but you were eight, and too old for fairy tales. Maybe you had simply seen a dolphin, or something else.

The music stopped.

A sharp bark of your name pulled you back to the present, and you scrambled up the bank, trudging behind your grandmother with only the occasional glance back at the ocean. You caught up quickly, and your young tongue wouldn’t be held back. “Grandma?” you squeaked. “Aunt Sylvia said mermaids were real.”

“Aren’t you a little old to believe in mermaids?” she scolded, though you recognized the pain on her face at the mention of your aunt. No one really talked about her anymore, and all they had told you was that she had moved away. You were certain she wouldn’t have left and not told you, but not even your mother would tell you anything. “Of course mermaids aren’t real.”

Her tone made you fall silent, and you didn’t say another word until you reached her little house, tucked away on the hill set back from the sea. You liked your summers there, or you had until Aunt Sylvia had left; since then, Grandma just seemed sad, much like your mother did.

She sent you to bed just after nine, but you couldn’t sleep. You kept listening, wondering if you would hear the music again, trying to stay perfectly still and quiet just in case you missed it. At some point, the phone rang, and you heard your grandmother answer.

She didn’t sound happy. “I think we should talk about her future visits,” she said quietly, assuming you were asleep. “I’m not sure it’s safe for her anymore.”

Her voice faded away, and you clutched your blanket to your chest. Did she not want you to visit anymore? Was it because you’d asked about the mermaids? You didn’t understand, but you couldn’t say anything - you knew you’d get in trouble for eavesdropping.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, and when you woke the next morning, you were groggily greeted by the early arrival of your parents. Your grandmother seemed so sad when she said goodbye, and somehow, you knew that it would be the last time you saw her for a while.

Twenty years later…

You didn’t recognize the little town when you pulled off of the highway and followed the coast. Everything had changed. The small boardwalk was mostly just boarded up stores and a grim looking diner, and the pier was fenced off, missing the rides you remembered, crumbling at one end. In the twenty years since your last visit, the town had all but died, all the buildings had become dilapidated, including your grandmother’s cottage on the hill.

Guilt filled you as you parked up outside. You had never come back when she’d sent you away that summer, even when you’d insisted on coming to see her, she refused, preferring to make the trip to you instead. The last time you had seen her was six months ago, at your parents’ funeral, and she’d been stoic the whole time, more worried about leaving you alone than her own wellbeing.

You’d thought you had a decent support system, so you’d told her you couldn’t pull her away from her home. And for a month, you’d been okay, until you were made redundant when the company you worked for folded. Your search for a job had been fruitless, and apparently, your unemployment had also driven your fiance into the arms of another woman. All of your friends were getting married and having children, and you no longer felt like you fit in anywhere. By the time you made the decision to move in with your grandmother, it was too late.

She passed before you could make the move. Now you were here, a few hundred bucks to your name and all of your belongings in the back of your old Nissan. Grandma had left you everything in her will, including the house, which was worth approximately nothing because the town was dead. Still, it was a sorely needed roof over your head.

After two days of packing, driving overnight, and more caffeine drinks than was probably recommended, you crawled into your childhood single bed and passed out, leaving half of your stuff in the car. You managed a solid ten hours, waking when the sun was already half-way up its climb, but only because the seagulls were so damn loud.

Digging into your bag, you located the jar of coffee you had brought with you, lamenting the lack of milk. Still, black coffee was better than no coffee, though you had to flip the breakers to get the power back on. You had enough savings to pay the bills for a while thankfully, you just had to figure out your next steps.

Bringing everything in from the car, you started to unpack. Most of your grandmother’s stuff was where she left it, and you hoped some of it might be worth selling to prop up your savings a little longer. Sorting through it was not going to be an easy job.

By lunch, your stomach was growling for more than coffee. You slipped on a jacket, deciding to stroll down to the diner and see if they had anything good. It wasn’t a long walk, but daylight only served to show just how downhill Canon Bay had gone. There were no tourists, only a few fishermen along the beach, and when you reached the diner, it was deserted. An older woman stood at the till, filing her nails, and she looked up in surprise when she saw you.

“Good morning,” you greeted. She kept staring, obviously dumbfounded that she had a customer. You tried to appear casual, scanning the menu, deciding something simple would probably be safest. “Can I get a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich?”

The request seemed to knock her back into reality. “Of course, hon,” she chirped sweetly, pressing a hand to her chest. “You’ll have to forgive me, we don’t get many strangers around here.” She moved to the till, tapping something in. “Cream and sugar with the coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“That’ll be three dollars ninety.” You handed over a five, and she handed back your change. “Find yourself a seat, darling, I’ll bring it out.”

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

With a quick grin, she moved toward the dining hatch. “Louie!” she called, putting the order slip on the wheel before crushing her hand against the bell. A male voice answered her, and she threw whoever it was a thumbs up, moving straight to the coffee machine.

You chose the table in the middle of the six, right by the window. As you waited, you stared out at the ocean, watching the waves crash against the pier. The waitress’ arrival made you jump, and you gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was in my own little world,” you laughed lightly.

“That’s alright,” she replied with a smile of her own as she poured your drink. “Are you on vacation here?”

“Actually,” you murmured, reaching for the cream as she slid the full cup of coffee towards you, “my grandmother lived here, all her life. She, uh, passed away last week. Left me the house.”

She paused, giving you a moment of scrutiny. “You’re Lenore’s granddaughter?”

“Uh-huh.”

“My word, girl, you’ve grown,” she exclaimed. “I don’t know if you would even remember - your grandma used to bring you in here for chili dogs when you were knee-high to a grasshopper!” She clutched her chest, and you noticed her name tag for the first time, faded but readable - Ginny. You had a vague recollection of the diner though any memory of her eluded you. “I was so sorry to hear about Lenore’s passing.”

“Yeah, she, uh - it was unexpected,” you sighed, smiling sadly. “I just wish I could have had a little more time with her.”

“She was always so nice,” Ginny said softly. “But sad, I guess after what happened to her daughter.”

“My mom’s death was pretty hard on her,” you agreed.

Her brow dipped into a frown. “Sorry,” she whispered, “I was, uh, I was talking about Sylvia. I didn’t realize your mom passed too, I’m so sorry, honey.”

The name sparked a memory, a woman with curly brown hair and a dazzling smile, leading you down the beach, telling you stories. Your heart started to thump wildly as you recalled things that had been buried for a long time. “Thanks,” you mumbled absently. “They, uh, they never told me much about - that. I was a kid, I guess they didn’t wanna upset me.”

“She was such a free spirit,” she said with a sad smile on her face. “I remember seeing the posters for weeks but they never found her, right?”

You had no idea, and told her as much, making her frown even more. “Maybe it was just too painful for them to talk about,” you suggested with a light shrug. “Explains a lot though.”

Ginny gave you a light, comforting touch on the shoulder. “I’ll go see about your sandwich,” she murmured, and you nodded, thankful for her polite exit. The mention of your aunt was still swirling in your mind, along with the recollection of your last visit, which if you were correct, wasn’t long after Aunt Sylvia suddenly disappeared from your life.

You stayed in the diner for a couple of hours, talking to Ginny for most of it. It was nice to talk to someone who was on the outside, who didn’t feel like they were going to judge you, and you promised to come down for breakfast the next day. The sky had clouded over when you stepped out onto the sidewalk, so you pulled the collar of your jacket up, heading back along the seafront to the road up to your grandmother’s house.

Or your house, you supposed.

The fishermen were gone, and the tide was coming in, crashing in stronger and stronger waves against the sand. You slowed as you heard something over the sound of the water, a soft music, almost otherworldly, and it drew you to a stop as you listened. It sent a calm through you, settling over your soul in a way no music had before.

“It’s about to rain, miss.”

The voice made you jump out of your skin, and you turned to face an older gentleman, dressed head to toe in a yellow raincoat and waders with a wide brimmed fisherman’s hat on his head. “Excuse me?” you stuttered, uncertain what he’d said. The music was gone, taking your trance with it.

“It’s going to rain,” the man repeated, narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re Lenore’s grandkid.”

You had no idea who he was. “Do I know you?”

He grunted. “If you’re hearing what I think you’re hearing,” he said gruffly, with little enunciation, “you should leave. Get as far away from the ocean as you can.”

The instruction was cryptic, and bewildering; you straightened, backing up a step or two. Droplets of rain started to fall, splashing onto the sidewalk around you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you rushed out.

“Stay away from the water,” the old man warned, lifting a finger in your direction.

You turned, taking off as the rain grew heavier and heavier, resisting the urge to glance back at the old weirdo. When you reached the cottage, you shut the door and locked it securely, grabbing a towel from a pile in your room. Outside, the rain turned to a storm, and you winced when the thunder felt like it was the sky falling in on the roof. You distracted yourself with some music, trying to remove the earwig of a melody you’d heard earlier as you sorted through your grandmother’s abundant books and papers.

It didn’t take long to find the first newspaper clippings and the police reports about your aunt. You had been right about the timing between your last visit and her disappearance from your life - that summer had been three months after she was gone. The police had declared her lost at sea, and a funeral was held, but as you made your way through the letters your grandmother had written, it didn’t seem like she’d ever given her youngest daughter up for dead.

The mystery deepened when you found both her journals, and Sylvia’s, the latter of which were neatly boxed and sitting on a shelf in the living room. Your curiosity drew you to your aunt’s first, and you skimmed over her teenage entries, reading through her later ones, when she was an adult, when you vaguely recalled she’d left her husband to come and live with your grandmother.

Your heart ached for the pain in her words as she described leaving her violent marriage, how free she felt when she came to live in Canon Bay. As you scanned the passages describing her move, your blood ran cold; she had heard the music too.

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how to describe what happened today. Mom thinks I’m crazy, but I swear, I could hear the sweetest music coming from the sea. I know it’s not the first time I’ve heard it either, except she denies me ever mentioning it. Tomorrow I’m going to go to the library and try to find those old legends Dad told me about when I was a kid. I’m sure he said something about music and mermaids.

Or maybe I am crazy. I’m never sure of anything these days, not since he fucked with my head so much. Mom says she knows a therapist in town with good rates.

You had never met your grandfather. He had left your grandmother when your mom and her sister were little, taking them with him when he moved to the next state over to give them a better education. Your grandmother hadn’t wanted to leave, and the relationship had never recovered; he died before you were born.

Reading further on, your aunt’s words began to prod at your own curiosity. She spoke of the music often, and the urge to follow it, an urge she seemed to resist at first. But as the entries got closer to the date she had disappeared, she wrote with less determination to resist it. Her final entry was short, and it chilled you to the bone.

I can’t resist it any more. I saw him today. He’s calling me home. Mom’s gonna be so mad but I have to go to him.

Who was “him”? you wondered to yourself, flipping through the rest of the blank pages. There was every chance your grandmother’s journals would reveal the answer, and you reached for them, barely noticing the time, or that the storm outside had stopped raging. It took a few minutes to find the right one that matched the date, and you flicked through, finding no mention of anything to do with music, and only brief concerns about your aunt’s behavior, at least, until you reached the entry for the day she disappeared.

They’re telling me my Sylvia is dead, that she walked into the sea. I never believed it, not even when she mentioned that forsaken song to me. The police won’t listen. Robert says that she shouldn’t have followed the music, that she’s taken by the ocean, but I can’t believe that. She wouldn’t just give up.

The pages were stained with tear drops, and you brushed your fingers over the words, looking for the next entry. They were sparse after that, up until three months later, when your last day was marked with a single paragraph.

My darling Y/N said she heard the song. She’s only a child. But Sylvia said she heard it as a child too, that it was only as an adult she felt the pull. I wish I had paid more attention to her… I can’t save her now, but I can save Y/N. Her parents are collecting her in the morning, and I’ve told her mother to never bring her back again.

You closed the journal, realizing suddenly how quiet it was. Not even the gulls made a noise, and you got up from your now-uncomfortable seated position, wandering over to the window. The sound of the waves was just catchable, so you opened the window, suddenly hearing the soft melody on the breeze again, and its effect was instantaneous. With your hands on the ledge, you leaned into the cool air, listening intently.

Sylvia was right. It did feel like a call home.

Somewhere in town, a car engine backfired, and the whooping of teenagers followed. The song evaporated, and your shoulders dropped as the spell was broken. With a sigh, you closed the window, glancing back at the piles of books and papers before deciding bed was the best place for you.

You didn’t forget your promise to Ginny, heading down to the diner bright and early with the sun shining. There was obviously fresh graffiti on a few of the boarded up stores, and when you mentioned it to the waitress, she shook her head, grumbling about shitty youth from the next town over. She confessed she knew it was only a matter of time before Canon Bay was completely abandoned, and when it happened, she would be moving to live with her cousin in Seattle. You tried not to let her downcast opinion of the future weigh too heavily on your mind, knowing that the fresh start you sought probably wasn’t going to be found in your grandmother’s aging house or the town slowly processing its death knell around it.

The pancakes were delicious at least. Belly full, and caffeine at a functioning level, you decided to walk along the beach, removing your shoes and socks to walk in the surf. There were no fishermen that day, no one at all, and you enjoyed the peace and quiet as you strolled, occasionally glancing out to sea.

You had almost made it the full length of the beach, coming close to the sheer cliffs that cut it off on one side, when you heard the music again. Slowing to a stop, ankle deep in the briny tide, you stared into the distance, squinting through the sunshine when you saw something diving below the surface. You waded a little deeper, and the bottoms of your rolled up pants started to get wet.

A head appeared above the surface, fifty meters or so ahead of you. Holding your breath, you stared, listening to the melody as it enticed you further. When it stopped abruptly, the head disappeared back below the waves, and you frowned, turning when a familiar voice yelled out at you.

“Hey!”

It was the same old fisherman from the night before. He beckoned you from the water, holding out your shoes; you hadn’t even realized you’d dropped them.

“You really shouldn’t be out there, miss,” he panted as you stepped back onto the dry sand, sparing one more glance behind you. You reached for your shoes, and he grasped your wrist, tugging you closer, and panic made you try to pull away. His face twisted with urgency, and his lips parted, revealing crooked teeth. “They’ll take you,” he hissed. “There’s no coming back.”

With one sharp pull, you freed yourself and then snatched your shoes. “You’re crazy,” you snapped, storming off up the beach. When you reached the cottage, your heart was pounding, and your head was spinning, the melody playing on repeat in your mind even though you couldn’t hear it anymore. You flopped onto the couch, staring at the mess you still had to sort through, listing the things you had to do as a distraction.

The rest of the day felt like a chore. You drifted from one task to another, getting nothing completely done. Your aunt’s diaries kept drawing you back in, trying to make sense of the things you remembered and the things she’d written down. By nightfall, you were dozing on the couch, dreaming of the ocean as you curled into the cushions.

It was the middle of the night when you jolted awake, hearing the music almost right away. For a moment, you thought you might still be dreaming, getting to your feet in a daze as you drifted towards the window and opened it. Clearly now, the melody kept playing, and what little resistance was in you faded away. You didn’t bother with shoes when you left the house, walking down the hill into the deserted, dark town, following the song until you reached the water’s edge.

A face appeared just above the water, illuminated only by the moonlight. You stepped into the slowly lapping waves, feeling the chill of it, staring at the curious eyes watching you from the surface of the calm ocean. Another set of eyes joined them, two heads now, and the melody grew stronger as your knees were submerged. You moved forward until your feet no longer reached the bottom, thrusting your arms through the water to swim forward, trying to remember lessons from so long ago. A few feet more and you were struggling, looking around for the two faces that had disappeared.

You spluttered, treading water as best you could, shivering from the cold. The current dragged you down as you floated further out, and you struck out, desperately trying to reach the surface.

Something brushed against you, making you twist in the water. Two shadows circled you, muscular bodies with long tails, vaguely human from what you could see, but you couldn’t see much. One of them came closer, pulling you up towards the moonlight, and you clutched at what you realized was a male body, or a male torso at least. He carried you higher until you breached the surface, staring into the face of your rescuer.

The song stopped. He leaned in, green eyes almost luminescent in the darkness; you could see the scales on his skin glistening with the light of the moon, his thick, short hair dripping water onto them. “You’re -” you gasped as the second being emerged from the water, another male, sporting the same scales on his pale skin.

The first one smirked, sharing a look with his counterpart. He reached up with one webbed hand, catching your jaw as he closed the distance between your bodies. You didn’t react at first when he kissed you, sliding his pointed tongue against yours. There was an odd taste to him, foreign yet not unpleasant, but before you could voice another word, your eyes rolled back and the last thing you saw was the moon above you before the ocean swallowed you.

It was daylight when you opened your eyes again, and you knew you were nowhere near when you had been. The rock you were laying on was slanted but fairly flat, and you could hear the waves gently lapping at the shore before you saw it. You lifted up onto your arms, hands planted against the smooth rock as the disorientation wore off, allowing you to take in your new situation. For one, you were nude, submerged in water up to your mid-thigh, and the sun was high enough in the sky that it warmed your skin. Raising a hand to shade your face, you gasped and froze when you realized that there were now delicate scales running the length of your arm.

A splash in the water distracted you. You weren’t alone, and you covered yourself with your hands as best you could, staring at the two males watching you with amusement. “Who - who are you?”

One of them swam a little closer, reaching out to put his webbed hands on the rock. When you flinched, he frowned, tilting his head in such a human gesture it made you pause. “We won’t hurt you,” he said softly, in perfect English.

You blinked at him. “You kidnapped me, and stole my clothes,” you pointed out. “That doesn’t exactly scream friendly.”

He smiled. “Come into the water,” he requested, “and we’ll tell you.” His companion nodded, lifting a little higher above the surface so you could see his whole face. They were both handsome, too handsome really, and their attractiveness was untainted by the scales on their skin, the slight point to their ears. “No harm will come to you, neiras,” he promised.

“Neiras?” you repeated.

No translation or explanation was offered, only his outstretched hand. You stared at it, then slowly reached out to slip your fingers into his. He smiled, helping you off of the rock and into the water, where you felt a little more comfortable with your nudity - so long as their heads stayed above water. “There,” the green eyed one murmured. “Isn’t that better?”

You weren’t sure it was better, not with how weird you were feeling. It felt like your very cells were being rearranged, and coupled with the strange scales on your arms, you were finding it hard not to panic. “What did you do to me?” you asked, looking down as you treaded water easily, feeling a greater strength in your legs than before.

“We gave you the gift,” the larger of the two males replied. “You heard our song.”

“That’s how we knew it was you,” the first continued. “You heard both of us.”

The music, you thought. Was this what had happened to your aunt? “What gift?” you whispered, shaking your head. “I don’t -”

Moving in closer, the first brushed his knuckles along your jaw. “You don’t have to be frightened,” he soothed, leaning in until you could smell the salt on his skin. “We would never hurt you. The change won’t be painful.”

Your head swam, and instinct led you to lean into his touch, seeking more, though you couldn’t make sense of it. “What change?”

The other was suddenly behind you, hands on your naked hips. “A human can’t survive where we live,” he murmured against the shell of your ear. “We had to change you, to make you more like us.” One hand slid around, cupping your lower stomach. “A human wouldn’t be able to carry our sons.”

Something clenched in your gut, and their intentions became crystal clear. “Oh,” you gasped as the first male’s lips ghosted along your jaw. “That’s -” Their hands felt like they were everywhere, and you moaned, trying to fight back the fog of arousal clouding your judgment. “I don’t - stop -”

Almost instantly they obeyed, but they didn’t move away. You panted hard, shaking your head, forcing your eyes open to look at them. “You don’t even know my name,” you stuttered out, feeling ridiculous for focusing on that above everything else. “And I’m gonna need more than…” The words felt too awkward to say. “That explanation,” you finished lamely. “I’m Y/N.”

The two creatures shared a look. “My name is Dean,” the first offered, bowing his head a little before jerking it towards his counterpart. “That’s Sam, my brother.”

“You’re, you’re brothers?” you squeaked. “And you wanna -” The phrase “carry our sons” kept swirling in your head, causing equal reactions of fear and arousal. “This is very strange,” you whispered.

“Our species are all born male,” Sam explained gently. “We have to find a mate on land, and you heard our song, which means -”

“You were meant for us,” Dean continued, catching your face in his palm again. “We called, and you followed - if it wasn’t meant to be, you would have resisted.” You pressed a hand against his chest, unsure whether you wanted him closer or whether you should push him away. “Can’t you feel it, neiras?”

If he was referring to the change in your body, then you could, and giving into it seemed so easy. Sam’s hands were on you again, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “I don’t know what that means,” you whimpered, feeling your heart pound hard in your chest.

“It means beloved,” Sam murmured, sliding his hands around to cup your breast. “Cherished. Mate.” His fingers pinched at your nipples, and you gasped, arching back into him. “You’ll swim like us, breathe the water like we do, and in time -” He hummed, and then Dean dragged your attention away with one webbed hand splayed across your stomach, smiling adoringly at you. There didn’t seem to be a need to say what they were implying; they had already told you.

Your thoughts made a fleeting return to the home you had left behind. “And I can’t… I can’t go back.”

“Is there something back there for you?” Dean asked, so close you could kiss him. “You already have a mate?”

“No,” you admitted quietly, suddenly morose with the confrontation that your life hadn’t exactly been going well lately. The only thing you could really think of that you would miss was coffee, which wasn’t really something you wanted to admit. Maybe you were crazy, but the way these beings looked at you was with more intense desire than anyone had ever looked at you. Every instinct you had was already inclining you to trust them… the call had felt like home, and you hadn’t thought twice about answering it.

“You see?” Sam purred against your ear. “You feel it; you belong with us.”

Slowly, you nodded, and Dean leaned in, finally kissing you. It was soft and needy, and his hands gripped your hips tightly, pinning you between him and his brother. When he broke away, you were breathless, and when he abruptly ducked beneath the water, it took a second for you to figure out what he was doing. His fingers pried your legs apart, and Sam held you in place with his hands on your breasts, leaving you at the other male’s mercy.

A pointed tongue ran a path over your slit. You keened quietly, head thrown back against Sam’s shoulder as Dean explored you under the surface, using his tongue to open you up. It felt different than any other time a guy had gone down on you; his tongue was rougher, stronger, definitely longer as he pushed it against your entrance, easily splitting you. You cried out this time, arching as far as Sam would let you, and with nothing to brace yourself against, your thighs settled on Dean’s shoulders. He cupped your ass, eating you out with enthusiasm, fucking his long tongue into you until you were begging for release, uncertain if he could even hear you.

All it took was his thumb pressing into your clit, brushing it a few times, before you were spiraling into a heady climax, trembling in the water between them. Sam kept toying with your breasts, and Dean released you, leaving you to literally float with ecstasy. He breached the surface with a small splash, smirking self-indulgently.

For a moment or two, they didn’t do anything, allowing you to catch your breath with your eyes closed, supported by Sam’s hold. You weren’t sure you’d ever cum so hard with another person, but your imagination was already moving onto the next part, and you suddenly had a concern about what came after. Lifting your head, you looked down at Dean’s front, spotting his belly button a few centimeters above where the thicker scales of his tail began.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with a frown, obviously catching your strange inspection.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, embarrassed you’d been caught. “I was just… well, you’re part fish, so - sex works the same way, right?”

“We’re no more fish than a dolphin,” Sam chortled, making your face even hotter with shame. “It works mostly the same way.”

You sucked in a breath as one of his hands dropped, webbed fingers stroking over your cunt. “Oh.” The logistics still created a few questions, but then Sam forced you to turn in the water, taking the opportunity to kiss you, pulling your body flush with his as his tail curled around you.

That was when you felt it. Hard and warm against your stomach, obviously his cock but nothing like a human’s. He broke the kiss, taking hold of your hand to guide it under the water, moaning when you tentatively wrapped your fingers around it. It was thick, moving more like a tentacle than a penis, but Sam seemed to enjoy what you were doing, so you kept doing it, wondering what it would feel like inside you.

Sensing your new desire, he lifted you in the water, forcing you to release him. Your legs automatically went to wrap around his waist, and the tip of his cock poked at your entrance, seeking its way in. A burst of arousal made you clench, and he dragged you down, filling you to the brim in one stroke. He was thick, thicker than you’d ever had, and the stretch of it made you cry out, clinging to his shoulders as he ground up into you, trying to get the last few inches inside.

You weren’t sure you could take anymore, babbling nonsense against his neck but wholly unresistant to his determination. Each stroke felt like it was deeper than the last, and he grunted, tightening his hold on you. “It’s too much,” you choked out, shaking your head.

“Just relax,” he urged, slowing his movements a touch, running one hand up your spine. “You can take it all.”

Another roll of hips and your body gave, accepting everything he had to offer. He groaned as he settled deep, clenching his fingers around your hips, meeting his brother’s gaze over your shoulder. Dean moved a little closer, close enough to brush his lips across the back of your neck. “Eventually, you’ll be able to take both of us, neiras,” he murmured, sliding his hands around your front to cup your breasts like Sam had done earlier. “It has to be deep, deep enough that the water can’t wash us away.”

It was hard to think straight with Sam inside you, twitching so deep. “You - you mean -”

“You feel him right?” Dean asked huskily. “Feel how deep he is?”

With one shaking hand, you reached down under the water, pressing your hand to where you could feel Sam, feel the bulge where he was buried deep in your womb. “Yes,” you gasped.

“You’re ours now,” Sam crooned, coaxing you into another soft kiss. You didn’t argue, surrendering when he began to move, drawing his thick pointed shaft nearly all the way out before sinking in again. The water splashed around you as your bodies collided, and your grip on him faltered as you started to cum, shuddering as he fucked deeper. Dean’s fingers kept teasing at your nipples, pinching and twisting until you were nearly sobbing, unable to hold out against the constant onslaught of sensation.

Sam didn’t give you any warning when he was close, but you felt it, a slow throb that made it feel like he was getting thicker inside you. You could barely keep your eyes open, rolling from one climax to the next, and when Sam started to spill deep in your body, you went slack, trembling from head to toe. After a few moments, he withdrew, but there was no reprieve - Dean was right behind you, quickly sliding into the place his brother had carved out.

Dean seemed perfectly content to hold your weight on his own, keeping one arm wrapped around your chest as the other kept a hold on your hip. His tail beat powerfully through the water, giving him the leverage to thrust up into you, making you cry out with every single ram of his hips into yours. Your fingers clung to his arm with a lack of anything else to hold on to, whimpering over and over as pleasure made you feel drunk.

With a throaty growl, he came, and you could feel your stomach bulging with the weight of what they’d left inside you. You couldn’t help the climax he triggered, and unlike Sam, he didn’t pull away when he was done, keeping you there, plugged up and full of both of them. “I knew it was you,” he murmured. “When I saw you, all those years ago.” He sighed, kissing your shoulder as you quivered in his arms.

The boy in the water, you thought absently, enjoying the sudden calm that washed through your veins.

Dean chuckled, grinding into you again, reminding you that he was still hard. “Don’t think we’re going to be done with you for a while,” he warned, lips against the shell of your ear. “You’ll be swollen with us before nightfall.”

The sun was setting on the cove by the time they had spent themselves, allowing you to rest on the shoreline in between them, still partially submerged by the water. You didn’t say anything for a long while, dozing peacefully. When night had nearly fallen, Dean roused you with a hand on your shoulder, calling your name softly.

“It’s time to go home,” he said as you sat up, blinking at him, thinking at first that he meant Canon Bay before the truth rushed you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just -” You sighed, offering him a weak smile. “For a second, I thought it was a dream.”

He smiled. “Not a dream, neiras. But it is time to leave. You have much to learn.” Pushing down into the water, he moved to a deeper depth, waiting for you to join him. You got to your feet, staring out at the sunset before looking down at your hands. There were more scales now, and you felt a new strength in your muscles, which you could only attribute to the change they had spoken of earlier.

Sam called your name. You looked at them, both bobbing in the gentle waves, waiting for you to take the final step forward into a new world. Crinkling your toes in the sand, you put one foot forward, then the other, until you were wading into the water to join them.

“Ready?” Dean asked, catching hold of your hand as you got near.

You smiled and squeezed your webbed fingers around his. “Ready.”

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING SO OTHERS CAN ENJOY IT 😁

#sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #monsterfucking #merfolk #au #supernatural fanfiction #fanfic #spn fanfiction #reader insert #dean x reader #sam x reader #dean x reader x sam #monstober 2024

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thefrogman · 4 months ago

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Hey there,

I'm interested in getting involved into a hobby level of natural photography. I was wondering what a good intermediate camera, and what top 3 lens (if any) you'd recommend. I love using my cellphone but some shots, like birds riding thermals or looking at a specific spot for a long time to get a good shot just isn't as easy with a phone. I intend to shop around and see if I can play with different things, but getting an entry level start point would be great.

Thanks!!

I'm going to assume you mean nature photography due to you mentioning birds. That does cover a lot of different things so it's hard to give you a great recommendation without more details. Your budget range and some more examples of what you'd like to photograph can help me help you a little better.

That said, I can give you an example of a general nature setup that I might suggest. I can't say if this exact system is a good fit for you without more information, but it can get you started in your research.

The big problem with nature is distance. A lot of the critters you may want to photograph are skittish and it is hard to get close enough to them and the big telephoto lenses can get quite expensive. There are superzooms that will technically work, but a lot of times their optical quality is not good enough to get artistic-quality shots. They would be more for documenting that you saw a thing rather than capturing a pretty shot of the thing. So if you see a zoom lens that goes from 100-600mm or 80-400mm... just anything with an extensive range... typically those are going to be low quality optics.

A trick to get a bit more range is to get a slightly smaller sensor. If you get an APS-C camera, it will essentially give you 1.5x additional zoom with every lens. But you sacrifice some dynamic range and low light ability. So dark scenes or scenes that are both very bright and very dark could be a challenge.

A very popular wildlife camera body is the Canon 7D mark II. It has a pretty advanced focusing system for a DSLR and can be found for a decent price on the used market.

You could get a 24-70mm f/4 lens for your general purpose photography. This can get wide angle shots for vistas and forests and also zoom in if you need to.

Perhaps a 100mm macro lens for taking pictures of bugs and flowers and mushrooms. But it is also slightly telephoto so you can capture some birds, larger mammals, and even take portraits of people too.

And then the Canon 400mm f/5.6 prime is a classic bird lens that is fairly telephoto, has good optics, and won't explode your budget.

And just because it is so dang inexpensive for what you get, the 50mm f/1.8 "Nifty Fifty" is always a good idea to get just so you have something that can work in very low light.

That would cover a pretty large swath of subject matter if you were to head into the wilderness to capture what you saw.

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orcinus-veterinarius · 9 months ago

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Hiya! Would you be willing to explain why keeping captive right whales is completely nonviable, as you mentioned? I’m fascinated, but the adhd simply will not let me parse scientific papers.

That's a fantastic question! While it would be wonderful if captive breeding were a viable option for this critically endangered species, it just isn't possible under any realistic conditions.

For starters, their size. Orcas are the largest mammals successfully held in captivity, and we all know how difficult (and controversial) that is, with only a very small handful of facilities ever pulling it off with any semblance of success. Tilikum, the largest captive orca (although I believe that record has since been overtaken by a male in China), was 22.5 feet (6.9 meters) long and weighed 12,500 pounds (5,700 kg). Most other orcas in human care, particularly the females, are considerably smaller. Compare that to a northern right whale. Even the smallest adults are over 40 feet long—double Tilikum's length—and weigh 88,000 pounds (40,000 kg)—seven times his weight—while the biggest specimens on record reached up to 61 feet (18.5 m) and an incredible 234,000 pounds (106,000 kg).

A tank for an animal that size would be far beyond anything we have the ability to engineer and maintain. Think of how deep it would have to be for the whale to even turn around! The water pressure would be astronomical, wreaking havoc on the building materials even if it were possible to build the structure. And remember—someone has to dive to clean it! Our theoretical right whale habitat would have to be a sea pen, but even the 100-acre facilities proposed with orcas in mind are nowhere near deep enough. While right whales are considered to inhabit "coastal" waters, they do not live right up by the shoreline, like certain orca ecotypes and other small delphinids. They are a pelagic species, designed to live out in the open water column, as are all baleen whales. So, the pen would have to be a floating habitat miles out into the open water (think of an offshore oil rig), with netting sturdy enough to not be destroyed by a 50 ton whale and long enough to extend hundreds of feet to the ocean floor. We're talking probably thousands of square miles of netting, that would have to be routinely inspected for safety and upkeep. So, you would probably need a submersible, since no human can dive that deep. On top of that, it would be difficult to find such a larger stretch of ocean in their habitat without shipping lanes, underwater noise, or pollution. And let's just forget about the logistics of staffing that place—or worse, funding.

Additionally, we wouldn't be able to feed them by tossing fish into their mouth like with dolphins. Northern right whales feed on tiny crustaceans and zooplankton, cruising along and filtering the creatures from the water with their baleen. Assuming our right whale keepers were somehow able to acquire the insane amount of food the whale requires (potentially over 5000 pounds of zooplankton a day), it would need to be scattered throughout the massive habitat to facilitate feeding. I imagine this would probably look something like the way Georgia Aquarium feeds their whale sharks from a little boat, although on a much larger scale. And since the food obviously can't be kept alive, we would need to develop someway of delivering the daily vitamins that are lost in the freezing process—and to keep hundreds of tons of krill frozen on a floating kitchen in the middle of the ocean.

Of course, the ultimate goal of this project would be to breed northern right whales... that means we need to take everything we just talked about and double it, at a bare minimum. For the breeding program to be successful, it would need a whole lot more than just two whales. And unfortunately, even if we lived in world with magical floating thousand-acre sea pens, unlimited krill, and endless money... we still don't know if it would even work. Right whale breeding habits are poorly understood, with the whales mating in cold northern waters before migrating 1,000 miles south to calve. Despite our best theoretical efforts, these migratory patterns could very well be necessary for successful reproduction.

Thank you again for the ask! This was actually a lot of fun to think about! If you want to read about JJ, the only baleen whale ever successfully housed in (temporary) human care, you can find an article and pictures here.

#still working through my inbox #the frequency at which I answer will slow down now that I'm back on clinics #northern right whale #baleen whales #cetaceans #marine mammals #conservation #answered asks #funlovingfuzzball

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yeehawbvby · 3 months ago

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When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 5

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: Juniper being a little shit leads into March and the farmer taking a bath together

Author’s Note: This isn't as spicy as the description makes it out to be kaelikgnvr it's actually a very silly chapter imo :3c

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

December knew she was screwed from the moment she locked eyes with Juniper the next day.

She wasn’t a fan of the witch, knowing that she could barely be trusted. She was like March in that she seemed to hide compassion beneath a rough exterior, but she was so self-centered, not stopping to think of the consequences her concoctions could have on people before handing them over. Where March used mean words to protect himself, Juniper used mean words and magic. A lethal combo — quite literally, considering one of her first interactions with December nearly killed her.

One near-death experience was enough for the former athlete. On that day, her typically calm demeanor had shattered and she went into a panicked fit of rage, baffled that the alchemist could be so careless.

The farmer couldn’t deny the entertainment that came from hanging out with her though. So as she entered the facility, made a bee-line to pet Dozy, and greeted Juniper and Celine — who were sat with cups of tea on the nearby couch — she was content.

But then she looked up, and her stomach dropped at the mischievous glint in Juniper's eyes.

Her tone dripped with annoyance as she asked, “What?” while claiming a floor cushion and leaving Dozy to continue his nap.

“You’ve been a naughty girl.”

“I—” December blinked a few times, as if to buffer. “What?”

“What do you mean?” Celine wondered too.

“Pheromones are nothing to be ashamed of, December.”

“What are you, a dog?”

“Don’t be silly. Many mammals can sense these things!”

“And bugs,” Celine chimed in.

”For fuck’s sake,” December mumbled, placing her face in her hands.

“So, how was March? I assume he has good stamina…”

The farmer heard a tiny gasp from the blonde. “Caldarus save me,” she whined under her breath, extending the last word. It was barely audible, but Juniper heard it, her signature chortle booming in the wake of the farmer’s prayer. “I did not have sex with March.”

“Well, I suppose you do have plenty of Mistria’s residents wrapped around your dirty little farmer fingers…”

“What do y— ah!” As December lifted her view to ask what Juniper meant by that, she was startled by a delighted Celine seated next to her, leaning into her space.

She’d just been on Juniper’s couch a second ago. How did she move so quickly and quietly?

“You had sex with March?” she teased.

“No!” December nearly shouted.

Celine stared wide-eyed, feeling tickled as she viewed such strong emotions from her friend for the first time.

This wasn’t Juniper’s first rodeo.

December noted, though, that while she denied the accusation her voice seemed to… echo?

She looked up at Juniper, who was looking at the bathhouse’s entrance, an incredulous, dangerous smile painting her features.

December and Celine both kneeled tall to peek over the lockers behind them, laughter bubbling in Celine’s throat and December’s face color-matching the pink crystal nearby as they saw a shocked March at the door.

“Wh-what did you tell them?!” he asked, briskly joining the three women.

“Nothing! Juniper… smelled my pheromones, or something?”

March furrowed his brows and shot a cold look at the purple-haired woman. “What are you, a fucking dog?”

“Aww,” Celine cooed, “December said the same thing!”

Juniper snickered. “A match made in heaven.”

“Mind if I go drown myself?” December asked while March groaned.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Juniper waved dismissively. “You know what? Why don’t you two enjoy a bath together, on the house!”

December and March stared deadpan at her, Celine struggling to stifle her mischievous little laughs next to them.

March thought, fuck it. Why not? A free bath is a free bath.

“Okay.”

As he answered, he crouched down to grab December’s hand, then pulled her to her feet.

“Wait, what?”

“Have fun, you two,” Celine waved, going back to her spot near Juniper while March tugged a frazzled December alongside him.

As the pair passed through the curtain to the locker room, December’s head swam. What did he mean by this? Was he just trying to prove a point? Was he mad at her for talking about him with others, even if she didn’t actually tell them anything?

They came to a stop, and December immediately decided to clarify, “Juniper started it…” She mentally slapped herself for sounding so childish.

March raised a brow, entirely unbothered. “You think I don’t know that?” He unclasped her hand and went to his locker, telling her as he put in the combination, “She likes to instigate. Of course she started it.”

His locker now open, March removed his shirt and tossed it in. December’s eyes widened before she averted them, trying to look anywhere but the man in front of her; and noticing this, he felt a little proud.

Deciding not to say anything about that — and wondering, was this character development? — he shifted his thoughts, scanning her fully clothed body. “So? Are you coming in or what?”

Her mouth opened and closed. She repeated the action. Pursed her lips, zoned out on nothing in particular. Then, she tied her hair up, preparing to keep it out of the water — because just as March had thought in front of the others, she figured, why not.

December went to her own locker, just two left of March’s, and began to undress too once it was open, not caring if he saw her in her underwear. She’d seen him topless at the beach a few times over the summer, and likewise, he’d seen her in a bikini. What was underwear, she thought to herself, if not a socially unacceptable bathing suit?

It wasn’t like she had anything fancy on, either: just an old grey bra with some loose threading on the left strap, and equally old black panties with lace along the top edge that had torn in several places from years of wear. She was pretty sure it had a small ribbon on the front too at some point, but it was long gone if so.

March, remembering how December responded to his brief praise the night prior, decided to mess with her a little. It was rare he had something to hold over her anymore, so he figured he might as well take the chance.

“Atta girl,” he settled on.

It has his desired effect — because oh gods, she did not need to hear that while they were taking their clothes off — but she hid it well. Turning away to hide her blush and grab a towel, December mumbled, “Shut up,” before wrapping the fabric around her.

She wiggled out of the rest of her garments within the confines of the lavender terry cloth, praying to the gods, the priestess, whoever was out there that it wouldn’t slip down. After a successfully completed mission, she turned back around.

March was leaning back against the lockers, his strong arms crossed against his torso and wearing nothing but the towel tied around his waist. His hair fell slightly different without his headband holding it in place. It had a handsome messiness to it. And he hadn’t been looking at her, instead busying himself with inspecting the new plants and crystals Juniper decorated the room with for the new season; but he could practically feel the holes December’s gaze had been drilling into him while she ogled, her brain short circuiting entirely.

He smirked on the side of his face she couldn’t see before turning his head towards her, giving it away immediately. Seeing him smile made her smile, and at that sight, he immediately dropped it.

March was still March, after all.

He nodded to the other curtain that led to the bath and started walking. December, wanting to lighten things up a bit, shouldered him to the side a smidge and walked ahead, stealing the lead.

“Are we racing now?” March scoffed. “What is this?”

“In a bathhouse?” December looked at him over her shoulder. “I’d never do something so irresponsible.”

“Yeah? Get back here then.”

She picked up her pace to a brisk shuffle (well, more of a waddle) until she got to the cubbies where bathers could leave their towels, sandals, and whatever else they brought with them while they soaked. March couldn’t help but laugh a little while her half-assed bun threatened to evade the security of its hair tie with each bounce.

“You’re a goblin, you know.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Does it?” he questioned, unconvinced.

“Don’t know, I’m not a goblin,” the farmer quipped, then ordered, “Turn around.”

He shot her a glare before doing as he was told. Sure, he was stubborn, but he wasn’t going to violate her for the sake of it.

Thanks to whatever salts and serums Juniper enchanted the water with, the bath had an ethereal blue glow that made it nearly impossible to see anything below the surface. It wasn’t uncommon for villagers to bathe together for this reason. Before now, though, December had rarely shared the space, and it had only ever been with other women to boot.

A few times were with Elsie, who seemed to be here so often, but she was always a delight in December’s eyes with her dramatic yet adorable love for love itself. She was happy to relax with the older woman and listen to the tales of her past suitors and scandals, whether they were true or not. The only other occasion was after completing the General Store’s upgrade: Adeline treated herself, December, Nora, and Celine all to a long soak with some face and hair masks to celebrate their hard work. She’d extended the offer to Ryis and Holt too, but they shyly declined.

The nerves were high for a moment as December kicked off her slides and unwrapped her towel, but that was quickly replaced by peace as she slipped into the water, almost immediately feeling its rejuvenating effects on her weary body. While she felt lightyears better than the previous day, it was incredibly rare for her to be fully pain-free. In Juniper’s weird, magical healing water, though, she always was. She’d live out the rest of her days on this very bench if she could.

“You’re good,” she told March once she was safely situated.

He noticed as he turned that she’d leaned on the outer trim and kept her face in her arms so that he could join her comfortably, so he made quick work of removing his own towel to do so.

Feeling a bit dastardly, he entered the water as gently as he could, hoping to not indicate that he was in yet. After that success, he announced his presence with a splash to December’s back and neck.

She startled at the feeling while wondering why she was being snuck up on for the second time since arriving here. It didn’t seem very fair.

She whipped around, carrying a small wave of water with her arm and sending it his way. It hit him square in the face… thus beginning a war.

They spent a solid ten minutes of their bath just splashing back and forth, trying to get the other to forfeit. Several times throughout this they forgot where they were, nearly turning the fun altercation into a wrestle that was only stopped by a single touch of skin on skin and an apologetic swear.

December’s hair tie was eventually abandoned as she felt her bun grow heavy, the hair soaked despite her best efforts to prevent that; and, taking that as a victory, March snatched it from her to put his own hair up into a tiny, pathetic ponytail directly on top of his head.

“Looks stupid,” December chided.

“You look stupid.”

She furrowed her brows and gave him another splash aimed at his eyes.

The baths were full enough to cover the body but shallow enough to stand in, so March still had a height advantage over December. That said, while the smith wiped his face with his hands, she made a move to snatch her accessory back. She was careful to keep a forearm over the center of her breasts while she lifted herself to reach it — they couldn’t be considered that large in the grand scheme, but in comparison to her small frame they were. She did her best to hide what she could.

The brief sight of so much of her porcelain skin, which glistened like dew on snowdrop anemones in the wake of their battle, obscured only by more of her skin, unlocked something carnal in March. He wanted to keep things light and fun, and assumed she did as well; but he couldn’t bring himself to bother hiding his face, which was now bright enough to rival his hair dye.

When the farmer looked back over at her friend, she snorted out a laugh. He looked like he was keeping something at bay, with his cheeks red, forehead crinkled, brows furrowed and mouth straightened.

She was clueless. To her, it looked like he was holding in a fart.

“What are you doing?”

“N-nothing, shut up.”

She made a move to smooth his wrinkles away but was rejected with a light swat. Trying to distract himself, March made a move to poke at her face too. Rather than just pushing his hand away in return, though, December reacted quickly, biting down on the digit.

Through the incredulous laugh that made its way out despite his best efforts, March exclaimed, “Ow?!”

He hadn’t moved his finger though, so December stood her ground. “Y’know,” she said to the best of her ability, “All y’haveta do ish take it out.” She maintained eye contact and a shit-eating grin the entire time

Deciding to fight back, March poked further in. The abrupt motion forced December’s mouth open and away while she coughed, trying not to gag at the sudden prod to her tonsils.

While reaping his rewards — the sound of the farmer’s joy (if he ignored the coughing fit he’d sent her into, at least), as well as having his finger back from the prison that was her teeth — March realized just how comfortable they’d gotten with each other. He enjoyed getting to be so silly with her. To be able to mess around and be this, for lack of a better word, stupid with her without worrying about things being strange. He’d never really had this with anyone before. He had friends, but rarely got close enough with anyone for them to break down his facade so naturally.

It was amazing, but it also worried him a little. As his companion’s struggle died down, he wasn’t sure if he felt more lucky or terrified. He couldn’t put his finger on why the idea of all this was so intimidating...

The farmer’s smile dropped upon seeing the concern that coated March’s face. “What’s up?”

He couldn’t just tell her that he felt scared by their friendship, their relationship, whatever was happening. He couldn’t possibly admit to being that goddamn cowardly, especially when she was looking at him so expectantly. With so much care.

Maybe even with love of her own.

So, he did what he does best — other than caging in his emotions behind a veil of grumpiness, that is.

He reacted physically.

While he didn’t have the ability to take out his feelings on some metal, he could kiss them aside, given that bridge had now been crossed; so the blacksmith answered wordlessly, scooping December closer to him by the back with one hand and tilting her head up with the other. He paid no mind to their bare bodies grazing beneath the water, even letting himself smile amusedly against her lips as she breathed a surprised gasp through her nose and balled her fists against his chest.

December went through a variety of emotions.

Was she flustered? Absolutely.

Embarrassed? The tips of her naked chest were skimming his lower ribs, of course she was embarrassed.

Confused? For sure.

Scared? Yes, but only at the prospect of getting caught.

But as March deepened their kiss, as December wrapped her arms around his neck, as March wrapped the hand that was on her back around to her opposite oblique to pull her completely flush to him, all of those racing thoughts fizzled away, becoming nothing but static in the back of her mind.

The kiss was sweet. It would be easy to think of it as erotically charged, but it was gentle and passionate and full of so much love that it didn’t matter if they were undressed. They were just existing together — and happily, at that.

They pulled apart for a moment, and December could’ve melted away upon seeing the amount of care in March’s gaze. The same could be said for him. Hearts racing and minds blank, they watched each other, as if waiting to see who would make the next move, and what that next move would even be…

Unfortunately, the next move was December turning away with a yelp and submerging herself underwater to hide. The next move was March jumping slightly and walking in the opposite direction of her, running a hand through his wet hair and placing the other on his hip.

Because just as the blacksmith was going to try gathering his thoughts to put into words, the duo heard an elated gasp from none other than the romantic expert of Mistria herself.

“Oh, I knew it was only a matter of time!”

March rubbed his temples, his head hanging low. December began to make herself visible, the water bubbling as she slowly rose, releasing air from her nostrils. She reluctantly met Elsie’s eyes, looking like a dog who’d been caught doing something naughty, but received a wide smile rather than a scolding and finger wag in return.

They were never beating those sex allegations.

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littlehungrywarriorcats · 4 months ago

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Hi ! I found this cat picture on Tumblr and was wondering if this was real. If so what do you think are the cat’s genetics ?

oh WOW! Very cute!

I have no way of verifying if they're real 100% or not, but I've seen cats like this before who weren't photoshopped/painted/etc. It's rare, but white can just...do this.

It doesn't look like vitiligo to me. Chimera isn't out of the question or anything but it's never good to assume chimera. My best guess is guy's white just got silly with it!

I've never been able to find any articles on why/how this happens developmentally.

I have a friend who studies chicken & cow genetics who told me about a cow "brockling" gene which makes pigmented patches within white to be more common, creating appearances more like this, who proposed that other mammals like cats may have similar "brockling" polygenes, but that's purely an idea we were tossing around.

TL;DR: that just happen sometimes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#ask #cafetomedragongrimborn

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thenavysealkie · 11 months ago

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@kadavernagh replied to your post “[pm] Hello. I am here for an inspection.”:

[pm] The lady from-- oh, yes. You had a wonderful body. That's not what this is about. I am conducting a survey. These are the questions. 1. On a scale of 1 to 10, how often do you think about eating people? 2. What is the best marine mammal? 3. Have you ever seen a dead shark? Where is it?

[pm] I...thanks? Hate to disappoint but I would say a 1. 1 means never, right? I'd pick 0 if it were an option. Just wanted that to be clear. 2. Best marine mammal seems awfully specific, but I really do love sea otters! They're adorable. As for seeing a dead shark, I have actually. Just recently in fact, washed up on the shore. By now I'm assuming its either been washed back up by the waves or picked apart by seagulls, but I saw it about 2 miles east of the lighthouse. You know the one. Why do you ask?

#pm; regan #wrdash

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cepheusgalaxy · 7 months ago

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One neat thing that I found now that I'm trying to learn to draw cats and lions and felins in general is how. easy it is.

I wasn't sure how their head was built but after a few tryouts I kind of just got it???? Circle, nostrils, connect the nose from there, etc. Just like that. It is much easier than when I was trying to draw humans, but I wonder why that is? I assume there are two reasons:

Humans were the first thing I learned to draw so I was a baby artist and literally drawing anything was hard. Now I've figured how things and shapes in general work and can identify and replicate them with more ease, because simply I know what I'm doing now.

Humans and other animals are not that alien in comparison to each other??? Specially if we're talking mammals. We have a lot of similar traits, I'm noticing, like the eye shape or the noses or the chins. They don't look alike but they are kinda built the same way, so since I know the structures of the human faces, adapting them to other proportions isn't all that hard.

In resume, THAT'S SO COLL I CAN DRAW BASICALLY WHATEVER I WANT *EVIL, MANIAC LAUGHTER* MUAHAHAHAHAHA

#artblr #rambles #i drew SIMBA #i DREW SIMBA #it looks awesome #art #artists of tumblr #what 2 1/2 years of drawing doesn't get ya

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lastlycoris · 1 year ago

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I spoke about the green sun earlier and how exposure to its light produces symptoms after three days. However, it's the plants that are the real danger. Luckily as non-combat personnel, I'm far in the backline, but I am in the world camp because of emergencies.

We found no signs of mammals or lizards in the area. I suspect it's because the plants wiped them out, and this may be a recent phenomenon. Part of my analysis is looking at the plants' means of parasitizing its victims - aka the unfortunate people who entered prior to the military and some military folk too.

Before I get into specific plants, let's talk about their generalities.

Most of the plants here are red; I'm assuming this aids in the absorption of the green sun's light. The mobile ones have a specialized vasculature system not unlike our blood vessels except in the plants case, it's like a hydraulic engine using differences in fluid pressure to generate explosively fast motion.

A number of plants have a rudimentary muscular system more meant for sustained motion. They are similar to slow-twitch muscles in animals. They don't seem to have nerve cells or any analogue. Neither do they seem intelligent. They just seem solely driven by the need to feed and reproduce.

I guess we can start with the trees. The trees seem to be a group of plants that have a symbiotic relationship with each other. Their trunks are all spaced apart approximately a third of a city block from each other and seem unwilling to grow closer to each other.

The trees have red leaves and have bark with a similar hardness to iron. It seems the excessive hardness is likely an evolutionary adaptation to the majority of insects flying in the air, which are pretty much horse-sized mosquitos. The mosquito's proboscis pierce through the bark and drink the sap within, and they make a quick escape before they get slapped to death by the vines hanging off the tree.

The vines that hang off the tree are dull gray and are thick as one's wrist. They're primarily called "the tentacles" at the base camp. These tentacles can move from tree to tree via the branches. A number of them are growing into the ground - which gets important later.

The ones that are in the air lash and entangle anything that is within reach, including the mosquitos. This is usually enough to slap them into the ground where it will wrap around it and grow tendrils into the insect to absorb their nutrients. It usually drags them towards the roots of the tree it is currently on, suggesting that it shares the nutrients with the tree.

In the case of animals like humans though, these secrete a neurotoxin that can cause swift paralyzation to skeletal muscle with the exception being the diaphragm. It wears off after several hours if the plant is not in contact with the victim. It too pulls the victim into a large underground chamber beneath the tree where it continues growing into them and treating them as soil to drain nutrients from. The few very dead victims that are recovered before the dissolving step, where the tree rains concentrated acid into the chamber, all show that the final cause of death is starvation. Judging by the nail growth at the time of death, they were kept alive between 1-2 months meaning the plant has some means to supply water and maybe nutrition, likely from the root system growing into them.

The vines are ambush predators. They grow underground and can hook together to increase their effective hunting range. Once it detects motion above it, its hydraulic-based locomotion kicks in and lashes and wraps around an appendage where the toxin quickly kicks in, and the vines drag the victim back underground for feeding. No wonder most of the non-plant things here have adapted to fly.

Having such a specialized neurotoxin and feeding method is practically proof that mammals existed here once. The question now is where did they all go?

Maybe we didn't explore far enough. It's a bit hard to go deeper when you're practically surrounded by murder forest.

I also have a bad feeling that this may not be evolution at work - and all this might be engineered instead.

#🌹~ [ left blooming alone ] || ic

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ratcandy · 2 years ago

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speculating nosk biology things with my now minimal understanding of basic entomology because. I dunno. I can (aka I started thinking about it late a few nights ago and now can't stop thinking about it)

This is HEAVILY based on preconceived headcanons of mine so if you're wondering "where did that idea come from" it came from that time I wrote a zote fanfiction about it. Anyway

A LOT of this is just me rambling and throwing out ideas to see what sticks. And explaining entomology concepts. 'Cause this is also doubling as me studying for my prin. of entomology exam on Monday. So if anything I'm saying here is blatantly wrong,,,, I am running off of what I have been told in class and mixing it altogether in a pot, so I mean. I dunno!!! I am jus saying shit. There's a LOT I'm left to learn and I'm jus running with what little i know so far </3

what I'm saying is. more experienced entomologists pleas be nice to me if u see this sdhgKSJDGH I AM a baby .

anyway REALLY long post below, be warned; as well as REAL BUG PICTURES

So Basically. In my already established nosk headcanons, I had considered nosks as sexually dimorphic (males and females are physically very different from one another). I had it that males were wingless and developed raptorial front limbs whereas females developed wings in place of those limbs.

And this type of dimorphism - where one sex has wings and the other doesn't - does occur in actual insects (which we're assuming nosks are for this, since they're hexapods at the very least). It's just not too common, and usually the other way around. The only example I can think of rn are embioptera/embiidina, or webspinners; females stay wingless and live in expansive web galleries while males are winged for the purposes of going out to find mates.

(image link)

And that's Usually how it goes if one sex has wings. Usually it's the male that develops wings (or both do, but the female can shed them, such as with termites), and that's due to how different sexes have contrasting optimal reproductive strategies (Females produce less gametes and they take more energy to produce, whereas males have a lot more and therefore can have a low investment in individual gametes. Male insects then - for the most part - want to reproduce as much as possible, whereas females are more "choosy" and go after quality males)

Now the thing about biology as a whole is that there's always exceptions to the rule. Nothing is the end-all-be-all and especially not with Bugs. Some insects do it the other way around, where the males are "choosy" while the females compete for them (see: Mormon crickets). There are ALWAYS exceptions!!! So with nosks, let's say the female develops wings and the males do not. What does that suggest for them?

It's kinda suggesting that the females are going to have to be the ones in charge of dispersal. She'll probably have to leave her nest, find a mate elsewhere, before starting her own colony - sorta like queen bumblebees do. Kinda. A little bit. It would make sense if the male nosks are like drones, anyway; usually unable to care for themselves that well and existing to reproduce and then die.

The thing is, and this is my own oopsie since I was young and didn't know all that much, in my previously established lore, all the mate selection is pretty much going on within one nest. It functioned a lot like a pack of mammals as opposed to a nest/hive of bugs. Because if it was functioning like a bug hive, erm. Well everyone in there would be related. So. I can Make Shit Up/Mesh Stuff Together to avoid that, though - there are Things that happen with bugs that can be messed with to better explain some of this. Potentially.

Firstly I gotta talk about a type of polygyny. Specifically resource defense polygyny. This is where a male insect finds a resource that females will need, be it food, shelter, or whatever, and will sit and guard it for when females come around. That male will mate with any female that comes for "his" resource. And there's another called female defense polygyny, wherein a male will gather up a bunch of females and defend the whole lot of them for himself.

SO. What if we (sort of) combined these with sociality in insects, as well as the idea of sexual role reversal? What if for nosks, the nest is the resource? A female will find the resource and guard it, perhaps having her own daughters to begin the inklings of a colony, and then just grabbing any male that comes by and dragging him into the colony. If she can get males to mate with her or her daughters, it potentially could help inclusive fitness (wherein cooperating with relatives increases one's own genetics being passed down, therefore increasing fitness). This would then explain why females are still considered somewhat matriarchal in nosk structures; the female starts the colony, allows the males to have shelter in her nest, and it's up to her/her daughters who gets mates. Eventually, then, one, a few, or all of the females of a given nest would leave to start their own colonies elsewhere, while some of the males would scatter to hopefully find their own mates.

Because I'm assuming it would work like bumblebees, where once the new queen leaves, the old hive dies off. Or maybe not. Maybe some females stay behind with some males, and it just keeps perpetuating as more males stumble across it and the females drag them in.

And/or maybe nosks have their own royal jelly type thing that dictates who the next colony-founding nosks will be. Not necessarily queens, as the daughters are also having mates, but Nest Founders.

The sociality would come in with overlapping generations (the Nest Founder, her daughters, her daughters' offspring) and kiiiind of reproductive division of labor? Not really though. Both sexes contribute to hunting/providing for the den, at least according to my old headcanons, so. Erm. Well honestly even that is weird. Maybe the males have to prove they're worthy enough to stay in the nest offered by the females by bringing in food? Or maybe that's how they prove quality? Uncertain. My train of thought fell off with this one shdgKJDHG

(For COGR purposes, That would explain why Mama chose zot's dad tho. If he's bringing in food consistently, he's proving quality of some kind, even if he's otherwise Just Some Guy)

Definitely no cooperative brood care, though. These guys are still awful to each other. Which is a whole other thing. I don't know if any social insect species are openly hostile with their nestmates unless something is wrong with said nestmate (such as disease/parasitism)?? Maybe nosks are just way too into that whole 'quality' thing to the point of ruthlessness. Maybe female nosk gametes are even more expensive/limited than most, and that's why they're Like That. More cost, more to lose. I dunno. (Though that would be another thing pretty fitting with cogr stuff,,, weak baby = wasted gamete, and if those are super limited, that's a huge yikes)

Ok now I'm really losing track of what I was talking about. I dunno how much of this is even making sense at this point. I should study for ento exam like a normal person and yet here I am . just saying shit about a fictional insect that can morph its entire appearance at will. Which is decidedly not a thing irl bugs can do . that I know of.

Like mimicry yes of course. But this is Advanced mimicry. I can literally only think of those spiders that mimic ants rn and. well it's not like the spider puts on an ant costume while hunting and then looks like any other spider normally. no they just look like this

(image link)

At the same time as all this we gotta remember that nosks, at least in my headcanons, are like. At least a little bit sapient, be that the Pale King's influence or not; so there's that added element. Societal structure is a thing they have, as well as empathy (something they deny/often do not show) and maybe some loose culture. So like. There are complications here, obviously, but again I Am Just Saying Shit.

anyway. um. Yeah. If I think of more things maybe I will make another post like this. I don't know I'm just saying shit

#clamtalk #hollowed bugs #shifts eyes around.#hollow knight #it's midnight who will even see this Right. Right #nosk #yea................#i don't want to tag this with speculative biology/entomology tags because i'm SCARED #i keep constantly looking back at my lecture notes while writing this like What if I said something Wrong and Stupid.#even Unknowingly.#scary.#anyway. runs away . I SHOULD STUDY LIKE A NORMAL PERSON AUAUHRHAHGHHG!!!!!!!!!!!!#VERY long ramble #<- haven't used that tag in a while!!!#bugposting

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umbry-fic · 1 year ago

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Shadow to Shadows

Summary: Tabatha has never had a Dæmon.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Tabatha, Summon Spirit Martel Rating: G Word Count: 2313 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 26/08/2023

Notes: Another entry in the Dæmon AU. Mostly for me to write more Tabatha and squeeze in a bit of lore. Highly recommend that you read at least the first fic before reading this one. I didn't edit this one too much so apologies if it's messy. Was listening to Ashes of Dreams while writing this.

~~~

Tabatha did not have a Dæmon. Ever since she had first awoken in the vast emptiness of Welgaia atop a dwarf’s worktable, she had not known the companionship of a Dæmon - the constant tug at one’s essence that people leaned towards categorised as comforting. Neither, however, had she been alone. Altessa had been there to place a gentle hand on her back to help her sit up, her joints shifting smoothly with nary a protest, exquisitely crafted eyes snapping open to survey her surroundings.

A small animal that her memory banks identified as a bilby clung to the dwarf’s shoulders, both their eyes shining with pride. Aimed at her, their wonderful creation, perfect in handiwork.

His Dæmon.

Later, they would answer her halting questions as she tripped over her consonants and vowels, mouth yet unused to forming any sound. She would come to conclude that she didn’t have a Dæmon because she lacked a soul. There was none of that bright light that seemed to seep out of her creator, shared by his counterpart, both of whom were endlessly kind to her.

Perhaps that was why it was always so cold, no matter where she went or what she did. A ball of frost permanently lodged in her chest, that she assumed could only be removed when she accepted the Goddess’ soul. The radiance of Martel Yggdrasill would chase away the remnants of winter, until there was only spring.

But for now, as she wandered Welgaia, patiently awaiting her fate, it was endlessly cold.

~~~

The angels that flew about this momentous fortress with the silent flapping of wings lacked any warmth as well, even though they were alive. Despite the gold they wore and the blinding white of their wings, they seemed almost grey, much like the endless walls that twisted and turned and led in circles. They navigated the corridors with ease, as if they had the layout of the place imprinted on their minds. There was not a spark in their eyes, and she didn’t spot any Dæmons following them either.

Idly, she wondered if they were like her. But from what she’d heard, that wasn’t the case. So where was the very incarnation of their souls, which it should have been unbearable to be parted from?

Mirabelle clung to Altessa’s shoulders, always, claws digging in just a little tighter. The two were inseparable, here in Welgaia.

Little shadows flitted about in the inky darkness that wrapped around corners and stretched across ceilings, encompassing all. They disappeared when she got too close, but something within her bid her to follow them, even if more often than not she ended up losing the trail.

Eventually, after days, she stumbled into an expansive, circular room, tucked away in a forgotten corner of this comet that lay still among the stars.

If she could gasp, perhaps she would have.

The room was filled to the brim with animals of all shapes and sizes. Birds, mammals, reptiles… Any creature that one could name could be found here.

It was also utterly silent. Not a single growl, screech, or croak. No scratching of claws or talons against metal. The animals remained quiet at her entry, producing not a sound, though many had turned their gaze upon her. Yet, even more were unmoving, staring into emptiness and seeing nothing at all.

Dæmons. Something told her they must all be Dæmons, as grey as the angels they had once been bonded to. Forgotten, abandoned and left to rot. All alone, they had gathered, hoping for any semblance of the warmth they had once felt, clinging viciously to the last dregs of life even as they continued to drain. Many had lost the ability to maintain a coherent form, their bodies flickering ever so often, resembling wavering shadows. Those, she guessed, would soon disappear, their flames fully snuffed out.

Alone. She could understand that.

She sat within that silent place, the only spot of colour among monochrome, joining the room of ghosts in their vigil as they waited for death.

She said not a word, for she had nothing to offer.

~~~

“Lord Kratos,” Tabatha said, no longer stumbling over her words as she had a month ago, though her voice did not rise and fall as a person’s would.

She’d taken to visiting the lost Dæmons when she could, for reasons she was unable to elucidate. Altessa never asked where she wandered off to, only ever warned her to be careful, even if there were explicit orders not to touch her, the vessel. “There are so many forgotten corners on this blasted comet,” he’d grunted once, shaking his head, Mirabelle hidden in a pocket. “Who knows what they could be hiding.”

She’d never visited the room to find someone else already there, and certainly not one of the Four Seraphim. It had always been her, and the multitude of lost souls.

Out of the three, Lord Kratos was the one she was most familiar with. Lord Yuan slipped away the instant he could when faced with her, and she’d never met Lord Yggdrasill. Kratos had always treated her with something akin to kindness, even if he was still incredibly stiff around her.

Kratos coughed, cutting off the gentle melody that suffused every corner, his gaze searching hers. His Dæmon was nowhere to be found, but she knew Lyra could go anywhere she pleased. Perhaps she didn’t want to be here, surrounded by the reminder of what she could have been, and what she could still become. “Tabatha. I didn’t think anyone else knew this place existed.”

“What are you doing?”

He hesitated, mulling over his words. “Just humming.”

“It… was nice.”

She stayed silent after that, finding her usual spot in the room to sit, fold her hands in her lap and close her eyes. After a while, the humming started again. Steadfast but soothing - a lullaby, perhaps. It grounded the lost souls that had fled here. For just an instant, they appeared more solid, more present. And it chased away the cold mired in her chest, until she was resting in a sea of warmth.

How nice, indeed.

~~~

When one day in the future, Altessa grabbed her hand and bid her hurry, smuggling her out of Welgaia, she lost that lullaby. She traded the grey for colour, for the whites and browns of the humble home Altessa and Mirabelle built for the three of them. Instead of wandering empty halls, she learned to cook, learned how to manipulate her joints to slice apples and dice potatoes. Learned to listen to the thoughts that spilt from both Dwarf and Dæmon, an endless well of creativity that could not be stopped. Learned how to entertain the rare guests, though they were more often than not put off by the robotic girl with no Dæmon.

Sometimes, as the idyllic time stretched into decades, her thoughts returned to that grey room, She would wonder how many of those souls, shattered to the brink of no return, had slipped beyond the reach of this world.

She wondered if one day, the same would happen to her. Dwarves could live long lives as well, but Altessa would not last forever. Once he was gone, and Mirabelle crumbled to dust with him, who would take care of her? Who would gently hold her hands still and replace a part that was beginning to rust? Who would tie up her hair when it got loose so she didn’t accidentally break another knife on a stray strand? Who would teach her the way of people, so she could approximate their behaviour as best she could?

Even now, down in the world below, she was nothing more than a shadow. Most likely, she would be abandoned as well. Left to rust in the elements, until her voicebox broke down and her limbs stopped functioning, until she became nothing more than a doll.

Would her mind - or the algorithms that approximated them - survive past that point? Or would she suffer the same fate? Doomed to be unable to fade away, even as the world moved on?

~~~

The lullaby reached her ear again, decades in the future. It would likely have slipped a mortal’s mind by now, but her memory was perfect. She could still picture the corridors of Welgaia perfectly, and could paint the lifeless angels that called it home. She could recall, with perfect clarity, the scorching inferno that had been Martel Yggdrasill’s soul as it had descended into her body, and the withering blizzard it had left behind when it refused to take hold.

Lloyd hummed it as he did the dishes, Arielle weaving between his legs until she tired and rolled onto her back. He didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

It put Colette at ease, some of the tension leaking from her shoulders even as she raised her hand to touch the scales that had begun to creep out of her neck and towards her cheek. A tired Pan rested on the edge of the sink, his eyes gradually closing as his body sunk into the melody.

She could still describe it only as “nice”. She told Lloyd as much, his cheeks flushing upon realising what he was doing. Colette giggled and told him to continue, while Genis, who had just emerged from the shower, wet hair dripping water onto the wooden floor, grinned and jumped right into teasing his best friend.

She didn’t question why one of the Four Seraphim and a human boy would know the same lullaby. A tune lost to time, forgotten in the same manner as the fleeting shadows that clung to the final rays of light had been.

~~~

Summon Spirits did not have Dæmons. They were not conventional creatures and did not have the same understanding of the soul. The closest may have been Fenrir, but the relationship between the hulking wolf and the Summon Spirit of Ice was difficult to quantify - it certainly didn’t seem to match whatever bond tied mortal and Dæmon together.

Martel did not have a Dæmon either. She walked the ruins of the Tower of Salvation, a tower of lies and broken dreams that had been torn down to make way for a new world of hope, and watched a sapling grow. Buds poked out from tiny brown branches, and in time, would gently unfurl into pale green leaves. A fragile tree that was trying its best to grow in a world that was still trying to find its way. She would guide and protect it as best she could, as was her role in this world.

She did not have a Dæmon, yet grey shadows gathered at the edge of the clearing that housed the Tree. Wolves padded around the perimeter, canaries roosted on the trees, and snakes slithered through the ankle-high grass.

It took them some time to gather the courage to close the distance between them until they were close enough for her to touch. For her to reach out a hand and run it through fur that had lost all shade, or feathers that were dull and lifeless. She didn’t, for even if she was a Summon Spirit, she would abide by the mortal’s laws.

These were lost souls, just like the ghosts that had viciously clung to life atop Welgaia. Likely remnants from the Human Ranches, the final screams of violent experiments that violated the very fabric of the soul.

They would fade away one day, but until then, she would tend to them, to the shadows she had once been among. They deserved that much.

So she sat on a log and told them stories sourced from the millions of spirits that resided within her. Of festivals held across both worlds, children running through the streets in joy with frosted treats in their hands. Of a sister grinning as her younger brother splashed water at her from a river, his golden hair drenched and his blue eyes sparkling. Of a mother’s gentle laughter as she bounced her son in her lap, her husband telling story after story about the stars that watched over them.

The other stories, she kept carefully hidden away. Of screaming that never left metal walls that reeked of sweat and blood. Of regret, bitter as poison. Of guilt, twisted beyond recognition and capable of reshaping the entire world.

Pain would do ghosts no good.

Others would join her, when they could, bringing little treats for the Dæmons. Wrapped matcha cakes from Mizuho, fancy candy from Meltokio, baked cookies… Sometimes, they would tell their own stories. Their happiest memories from childhood, the tiny moments of peace they had stolen on their journey, the acts of kindness that had meant the world to them.

Their Dæmons would mingle among the crowd, hoping to give comfort. They would groom, and lick, and soothe.

Over time, the oldest ones would fade, flicker, and finally disappear. Voyaging to a world beyond, one where they could no longer be hurt. Where hopefully, the mortal they had been separated from was waiting for them with open arms.

Before they vanished, Martel would ask them their name. For just as before, her memory was perfect - nothing could escape its bounds, held together by mana instead of code.

They would not be forgotten. Never again.

~~~

Sometimes, in the midst of telling another story to the lost souls milling at her feet, she would spot colour out of the corner of her eye. Almost as if light was refracting through the membrane that stretched across a butterfly’s rainbow wings, beating strongly through the air.

When she turned her head, there was always nothing there but the vast blue sky.

With a tiny smile on her face, she would drop her gaze and return to her story, melodic voice washing over the clearing.

#fanfiction #one shot #tales of symphonia #tabatha #summon spirit martel #i haven't made a twitter post but i'll do it after i stop flooding your timelines with mizuki birthday art #the dashboard fixer gave me back my beloved legacy editor

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