#you have a PROBLEM princess you are EATING SLOP in your SLEEP. DREAMING OF IT

[majorasnightmare]

cons of cat owning: your chunky potato princess baby whos been spoiled rotten and has a lifelong passion for wet food (and eats it in her sleep) absolutely can and will leverage her sheer DENSITY to force her snuggles upon you by surprising you with a shoulder tackle so you fall down onto your bed so she can promptly make a lil bed on your chest, compressing your lungs, and purring SO loudly while she aggressively headbutts your face

[irenadel]

And if the devil... 1/10

Making a banner for this finally for the grand finale coming soon. Excuse to rb. Credit for the Aemond screencap goes to the wonderful Liv @barbieaemond Eventual smut, Aemond Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.”

- Farouk Gouida

He’d had nothing but contempt for you the first time he’d seen you: a too tall, mannish girl mopping up baby vomit for Helaena with less tact and grace than a stable boy. He had seen the blotchy red and white of your hands and face and had thought you one of Aegon’s cruel jests for a sister-wife he did not deserve: a freakish chambermaid for a mad princess.

And far too familiar with a lady who was in every way your better.

He told himself it was not jealousy that burnt in the pit of his stomach, brighter and wilder than Vhagar’s fire. No. It was distaste and a healthy amount of distrust, he’d felt when he’d come to visit Helaena and found you rocking her gently in your arms. You’d been in drab servant red, hair escaping your work bonnet, so strangely pale that it had made Aemond squint in immediate suspicion. Whatever it was, you were no noble companion or even one of the prettier handmaidens, just a scullery girl, dress still stained from floor scrubbing, holding a Targaryen princess and gently brushing her hair out of the way.

He’d had to control the urge to snatch her from your arms and snarl at you to leave if you wanted to keep your head… It would not have been becoming. Helaena would no doubt have found it distressing. But most of all, he feared what he would do to you the moment he’d had your pale, sickly hand in his grip. Because you had robbed him of a thing which he had not known belonged to him. His right to his sister’s pain, always so far and yet so close, because he feared the things he could say if his affection were ever to escape him. And here you were, like a thief in the night, snatching his chance before he’d even known it existed.

You’d had the common sense to leave quickly with your bucket of slops, and your eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. As if you’d known your transgression.

Helaena was not half as wise as you. Her tears had been all but gone, not there for a brother to wipe away or avenge. No forthcoming confession about Aegon that he could use as an excuse to stalk his brother’s steps and pick a fight. Just her tongue loosened by the joy of Aemond’s sudden gentleness, brought on by unwarranted competition.

You’d been recently assigned to her quarters, she’d told him and you were very good at putting the children to sleep. You weren’t squeamish like the ladies of the court, would look at Helaena’s insects without problem and think nothing of her muttering under her breath, however strange her words might be. When the children were quiet, when Helaena herself hadn’t known what else to say, you had talked to her about the great locusts of the plains of Essos, told her stories of swarms of them, climbing atop the little babes, eating the grass so thoroughly no horse or cattle could survive on what was left.

But more so, you were kind and strong and willing to put the princess to bed when her head hurt so bad she could barely think. You stayed up with her when her dreams were more a punishment than reprieve from her reality, asleep in her bed besides her or waking up for her to tend to the babies. Not a wet nurse, but you had a good head on your shoulders for fussing and crying. She had come to depend on you really. 

He had not liked it at all.

He’d blamed himself for being too engrossed in weapons training and Vhagar to have noticed your creeping, insidious influence on his sister. He’d questioned his mother and had found only her relief that at least Aegon left you alone, probably less out of kindness than out of distaste. You may have been coarse and rude and perhaps unfit to deal with anything but the lower floors of a castle, but the queen had had enough problems to deal with and at least you had a strong back and a mean glare that kept even princes away.

Not Aemond though.

He’d kept his good eye on you, and a new man-at-arms he trusted always at his sister’s side. Had even thought to corner you and put the fear of the gods in you lest you had thought Helaena alone and vulnerable. Had not even considered replacing your presence with his own, uneasy with how much the prospect thrilled him. 

You’d looked up only once: a lightning quick glare for the One-Eyed Prince before the subservient mask was firmly back in place. And Aemond had been struck strangely silent by your odd red eyes and let you scurry away. Your coarse yellow hair had been escaping its thin bonnet and he’d known immediately.

Not Valyrian blood, not a misplaced bastard, not some political trick as he had suspected…

Albino.

Oh but Helaena did have quite a fondness for broken, repellent things.

He’d been less wary then, but no less watchful. He’d stopped to stare when he saw you carrying the princess’s tray or even one of her children up and down a corridor, infallible technique for getting them to sleep at last. He’d haunted his sister’s rooms, lurking in doorways, listening in to your accent (not Flea Bottom, but not court either, no one had taught you how to speak to your betters or even how to speak well at all, it seemed…) as you told Princess Helaena about having eleven cousins and wrestling them all into bed, about taking in laundry because you couldn’t take in sewing, about a crotchety old uncle who had broken his hip out at sea and needed minding now. An uncle who resented the minding and the niece and wife that kept him and his children fed. An uncle who sounded to Aemond’s hungry, savage loneliness a lot like a father and a king.

He does not hear the other talk, even if allowed to be present for it he would not consider it. He would have dismissed it as women talk, gossip, having seldom let himself dwell on kindness instead of grievance, succor instead of retaliation. He does not hear a beloved sister tell you to stay one step ahead of the dragon, as far away as you can manage, because dragons bring nothing but fire even if they love you, warm enough until it becomes death. She should know.

It does nothing to keep Aemond from following behind you. When you took the children and their mother down to the kitchens for hot milk with honey. When any of them were achy or colicky or cranky and you would put a shawl over them, babies or mother. When you insisted the princess and her children could do with a stroll and some sun, and Aemond found his heart aching with hideous envy because he could hear his sister laughing at your snappish kitchen talk, speaking softly and intimately to you, as hungry to give the attention as to receive it. (Even as his sorry, wicked heart screams out, it was mine, all this was meant for me, how dare you, how dare you take what I didn’t know I needed!) When you sang Helaena’s babies or Helaena herself to sleep and Aemond found he had to cover his  ears against your strange, foreign crooning, that didn’t sound like King’s Landing but sounded treacherously like home. He’d had to flee to the training grounds and take out this all-consuming anger on something, drown out your husky, kind voice with the din of his sword against a shield. Hitting the wood over and over again until he tore it to splinters and Ser Criston had to hold him into stillness, knowing there was no comforting a dragon without getting burned.

“My prince.”

You would say when you fled a staircase he cornered you into.

“My prince.”

When you’d courtesy, clumsily, still too sour-faced and suspicious to do it gracefully, when he managed to catch you on your way out of Helaena’s room.

“My prince.”

The day he had decided that yes, your prince, was exactly what he’d be to you, what you’d say to him, in whatever way he’d manage to tear it from your throat, in spite of Aegon’s taunting and the visceral fear at his own woeful lack of knowledge in matters of the flesh.

Because he had decided if you had no problem taking from him, he would have no problem taking from you.

Because you’d said it to him on your way out of the washing court, bonnet gone and coarse yellow hair sticking out of your pinned braid like a frightful halo, a bright purple bruise already forming on your cheekbone, as you’d glared directly at him, challenge in your head held high, and the water splashed all across your linen apron, sticking to your skin so closely that Aemond should have had you right then and there.

Because you’d said it with a curt nod, like Ser Criston when he approved of a particularly good move Aemond had just learned in the training yard, like a general to a soldier, “My prince.”

Because he’d just seen you swing a chamber pot directly into a stable boy’s face after hearing him call Princess Helaena “daft,” bringing it swinging back to the other side of his face, contents and all, just to take a step back to bring a fist into the stable boy’s friend. Aemond had been too transfixed by the sight of your heaving chest and the splotchy red of your cheeks to intervene after you’d taken a half-hearted punch to the face, returned it in kind and thrown the now empty chamber pot at the whimpering serving boys at your feet.

“And clean up your bloody mess!” You’d said before washing your hands in the fountain and strolling out of the courtyard, about as triumphant and vicious as Prince Aemond himself had ever felt when defeating knight after knight, telling himself he was better, stronger, a more fit ruler than any of them would ever be.

“My prince,” you’d said with your curt, martial nod, with your ruby-red eyes and the split knuckles of your hand, wounds taken in the defense of Aemond’s sister, wounds that should have by right belonged to him.

He’d taken your wrist in his hand, grip monstrously strong, and watched you realize the mistake you had made in the proud tilt of your head. You had forgotten for a second that pride wasn’t for your class of people, less so when confronted by a prince of the realm. He’d watched you realize your danger and how you didn’t care, that if there was a price to pay for pride you might as well pay it… and had realized himself that he didn’t care much either. Because Aemond had decided in that moment that he liked the defiance and stubborn anger in your ruby-red gaze, just as much as he had liked the ringing din of the chamber pot breaking something in that stable boy’s face. The prince had smiled at you then, his hunting cat smile, the one men all over the Seven Kingdoms would learn to fear, as he let you pass. Your prince, you would call him again, he decided as he let you go. Your prince, he would hear you call him, on your knees, on your back and beneath him, anyway he could get you. Because he wanted it. Because he had known himself to be spoiling for a fight and would be spoiling for a fight his whole life, the moment he had gone looking for Vhagar, the largest living dragon in the world, and won her. As he would win you. On your knees, your back or beneath him, as you called him your prince, because you wanted to, not ripped out of you by fear and hope for profit but because you wanted him. He would teach you that. That there were none like him, Targaryen or otherwise. That he was your prince and more than. He would teach you this, just as he had begun to teach the world.

[swtorramblings]

Second Chances-9: Nothing is Ever Just Right

Azula art by @fleeting-sanity​.

No Lionel art. I’ll think about it, but he’s not really central casting, is he?

Azula and Lionel have a talk about her room and board arrangements.

Note: Azula does deride Fusco for his weight.

“Will you stop fussing? So you hit me. I was going to do worse to you. Get over it.” He sighed. “I’d love to do that. You can take care of yourself. But they want me keeping my eye on you.” “They know you won’t beat me again, right?” He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, they know. I think they just know I can take it until someone else can help.” “Take what?” “A beating.”

She looked up from this “microwave” thing, was the noisy box really cooking her food? “And you’re all right with that?” He shrugged. “Nah, but I’m used to it. And I volunteered. Sometimes all you can do is put your head down and plow through. I’m good at that.” The oven gave a long whine. “Whatever. What now?” “It should be done. Check it to make sure it’s cooked.” She pulled the little box that said macaroni and cheese out of the microwave and yelped. “Ow! That’s hot!” “Well, yeah, what did you expect?” “I don’t know, you told me about it, but I don’t think I believed it. And I never used to get burned.” “Things change, kid.” Azula gingerly peeled back the top of the package. The contents looked disgusting. Some kind of noodle, covered in yellowish slime. She dipped a finger into it and tasted the paste. It was what she expected, and she made a disgusted face. “Yes, but some changes are intolerable.” She still started eating, though. She was so hungry it barely mattered, and it started tasting a little better as it cooled. She was going to need to get used to worse than this, she was sure. In between mouthfuls, she said, “I don’t know what it is, but you remind me of someone. I don’t like it.” “Oh, you’re breaking my heart, kid.” “It’s not your shape. Well, it’s not just your shape.” “Big guy, was it?” “Pretty big. Like you. Rotund. Corpulent.” “Yeah, I get the idea.” “But that’s not it. You don’t look like him. You don’t talk like him. He likes to sound wise, and you don’t even pretend to be.” “You’re just making me misty, now, I can’t stand the compliments much more.” “That won’t be a problem! But you’ve seen things, haven’t you? And done worse. You’re not here because you’re a good person. You’re here because you’re a bad one.” She paused, grinning to herself. “I never realized that about him.” “Yeah, you’re very smart. Are you done yet?” “Oh, I could go on for hours!” “I mean with your food.” She looked down and saw she was. She really had been hungry. She still was, but the edge was off. “Yes. I don’t think I want any more of this slop right now.” “It’s what we’ve got.” “The cry of those not born to rule.” “Sure, you’re a princess. This way, your majesty.” She raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm, shrugged, and followed him down the hall. “Looks like you’re down to two rooms, that one’s taken.” “What’s the difference?” “Not much. That one has a window, I think.” “Then it’s mine, I do love the sun.” “Great, go ahead. You can lock the door, there are some clothes, just don’t leave. And there won’t be a mint on your pillow in the morning.” “Why would I want a … You know what, forget it. I’m going to get some sleep.” “Sure, princess, you do that.” She closed the door, shutting him out, and true to his word, there was a working lock. But they had to have the key. That thought stayed with her, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Too much had happened in too short a time. She sat at the edge of the bed, and almost immediately felt herself falling into the too-soft mattress. And then there was nothing but darkness and strange dreams.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Mermaids and Fairy Tails

Tom Hiddleston x OC

Romance, fluff

This is 9k words. Sorry.

Please note, all references to actual real life children will be vague. I hope to have balanced privacy and respect with my creative works. All events are fiction, I do not know Tom, nor will I likely ever have the joy of meeting him.

Warnings: Just fluffy. Free diving can be a dangerous sport, please swim responsibly.  

Summery: Tom, Chris and Chris’ children are traveling, giving mom a break. In an effort to entertain the children, they visit a Mermaid show and it’s hard to say who’s more mesmerized by the mermaid, the children or Tom. 

    Tom was tired. Chris was tired. You know who wasn't tired? The three kids bouncing around the rooms. Chris wanted to give his wife a break and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Take the kids with him, tag team with Tom during individual interviews and spent some time with one of his best mates and his kids.

    Tom had agreed. It sounded fun. Spending time with this niece was always pleasant. What difference could it really be, being three kids rather then one? What could go wrong? Famous last words. Surprisingly, it was a big difference, having two more children then he was used to. They seemed to feed off each other, running and bouncing and talking amazingly fast. That's not to say the three were poorly behaved, just that they were young and full of life.

    You know who didn't feel young and full of life at that moment? Tom. Tom felt old, his bones ached and sleeping for a month was sounding appealing.

    Chris didn't feel so young himself as he looked through entertainment listings for child friendly things to do before passing the task off to Tom and joining the ever energetic children. Vegas was not made for kids but there was still a surprising selection. In front of Tom, giggles and laughter filled the room as Chris rough housed with the kids, trying to wear them out.

    “Okay, how about dinner?” Chris announced, dropping the twins in a heap on the bed and ordering all small people to wash faces and hands, gather socks and shoes and prepare to leave. Tom was thankful, it was less crazy when they were out in public where they had to behave under the ever watchful eye of possible press.

    “Where to?” Tom asked, slipping his own shoes on.

    “Pizza?” Chris shrugged. Tom knew he shouldn't but he didn't normally make such poor dietary choices and agreed.

    The seemingly magical thing about hotels in Las Vegas was that they contained everything. Not just one or two or even three restaurants but over 20 under this roof alone. To be fair, the resorts were huge and many had shop filled halls that ran into each other, making it hard to tell where one hotel began and the other ended.

    It was much faster to find a pizza joint by asking the staff then walking the massive expanse of the hotel. The waitstaff cooed over the children, singing praises to the men managing to take charge of them while looking so dignified and refined. If only they knew of the chaos when they were in private. Autographs were signed, pictures were taken and the meal eaten. The men discussed and planed, trying to come up with ways to entertain the kids for the night that didn't include jumping around a hotel room.

    “I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear. It's best to ask the locals if you're wanting to find things for the littles. The internet seems to think all anyone does here is drink, gamble and well...” A black haired waitress spoke softly, a bit rushed as a blush dusted her cheeks. She was young, very young and looked so timid.

    “We've noticed that problem.” Tom laughs, setting his phone done and locking it, banishing away yet another article of '100 fun things to do in Las Vegas!'

    “What do you suggest?” Chris asked, doing the same with his phone.

    “Do they like mermaids?” The woman chewed at her lip. She must have been just out of high school.

    “Who doesn't like mermaids?” Chris laughed as the kids perked up. The waitress relaxed having the kid's attentions. They were much less intimidating then talking to Thor and Loki.

    “What if I told you guys,” She leaned in, dropping her voice lower as if it was a secret. “that we have a real life mermaid princess, right here and she happens to be a friend of mine?” The two girls squealed in delight, earning more hearty laughter from Chris.

    “Where can we find information on the mermaid?” Tom hadn't found anything as interesting as a mermaid show online.

    “She'll be in the shark tank in about 45 minutes. Tell the staff Maggie sent you and they'll make sure you get to meet her.

    “How much will it be?” Chris asked after directing the kids to eat their pizza.

    “Oh no, the mermaid is free, that's why she didn't show up in your searches, why promote something that wont bring any money? I'll let you get on with your meal, I do hope you enjoy the show.” Maggie left them with a smile on her face. Oh yes, Rose was going to kill her but this was worth it. So very worth it.

    Rose nearly picked up her phone, still wearing the fish muck covered gloves before she caught herself and wiggled her hand out and answered.

    “Maggie, what's up Kiddo? I'm working a long night so if you need help with Bio you're on your own.” With the phone pinned between her shoulder and head, Rose slipped the glove back on and set about preparing buckets of food for the many tanks under her care. “What do you mean, a private meet and greet? For who? If it's a surprise, how do I know who to bring back? You told the kids what?! Fine, fine, no it's fine. I don't have a crown or anything. Right, of course you are. I'll see you in ten. Bring me dinner!”     Maggie had disconnected the call before her last request made it completely out of her mouth. Rose's hips and legs ached. Earlier it had seemed like a good idea to skip lunch and spend extra time swimming. Not that she didn't swim enough, Rose spent most of her day swimming in tanks in three different resorts.

    Rose groaned when her phone slipped from her shoulder and dropped into a bucket of slop. At least it had a soft landing. Her staff always laughed that she required they all have waterproof phones or at least cases but that was the very reason why. It took no time at all the rinse the phone and set out delegating the night's feeding. It was amazing how much time was spent feeding the animals.

    They still had about 30 minutes before the curtain would open again on the shark tank when Maggie came rushing out the doors and into the sweltering summer heat, holding a bag in her hand. The poor girl was winded but excited just the same.

    “So do I get to know what all the fuss is for?” When Maggie just shook her head and pulled out a silver tone tiara with faux diamond accents, Rose sighed, sitting at the edge of the pool. “All I get to know is I'm a princess now and whatever it is, it is worth you sprinting to Excalibur and back?” Maggie set the crown on Rose's head after freeing her hair from it's braid.

    “It will be worth it, I promise. What tail are you wearing? Wear a nice one, not a fabric one!” Maggie set about weaving bunches of hair around the tiara and securing it in place with delicate braids before gathering half of the hair into a pony tail. Everything was secured in place with special ties that would dissolve quickly in the stomach should they be swallowed.

    “The silicone Midnight Beta just came in.” While Rose stripped out of her tank top, Maggie fetched the tail out of the make sift tail closet.

    “This thing weighs like 30 pounds, how do you swim in it?!” She complained, struggling not to let it drag on the ground. “Nice top, by the way.” Rose wore a simple but lacy black bikini top with a racer back. It was easier on the shoulders and comfortable with blue accents, matching the blue shine in her newest tail.

    “It's only 20 pounds.” Rose helped straighten the tail after wiggling out of her jeans.

    With Maggie's assistance, Rose slipped her feet into the base of the fin and began working the length of the tail up and over her hips. It always seemed to take forever but the outcome was always worth it. As silicone transitioned to a nylon mesh around her upper hips and the color faded out, giving the tail a more natural transition. Every day she swam in the tanks she maintained to check the health of the creatures in her care but for the kids, she did her job while making their dreams come true.

    “Go warm up, I'll let Mark know who to snag after the show. I figure you can all chill with the pod.” Maggie was grinning like a loon, far too pleased with herself. They referred to the resident small dolphin pod just as 'the pod' often enough. Rose had known some of the dolphins since they had been born and they were like a family to her. A wet family that liked to splash.

    Rose didn't bother answering, Maggie was already half way across the deck. Instead, she swam with the small pod of bottle nose dolphins, practiced their tricks and fed them treats until her muscles relaxed and she felt ready to face the crowd. With practiced grace, she swam toward the small gated port and gave the sign for it to be opened to allow her to pass. It took some convincing, but over a year ago Rose had convinced the resort that having waterways connecting all the pools would make her life easier. With the use of the water passageways creatures could be moved to a vet quarantine tank without stressing them too terribly much. It was something that likely saved lives, as stress was often fatal to aquatic life.

    One gate closed behind her as she passed inside the tunnel, taking a deep breath she descended and made her way through the passage where another gate was opened for her when she surfaced in

front of it. While she was in the shark tank, she was hidden behind one of the many fake coral fixtures. The curtain was already pulled back, it was only ever closed for feeding and emergencies.

    Rose took a handful of deep calming breaths, willing her heart rate to slow and relaxed her body and ran her hand along the back of a stingray that had come to greet her. The people on the ground outside the tank far below her wouldn't have seen her yet, hidden behind a coral fixture.

    On a good day, without actively swimming and going about her job, rose could hold her breath for between ten and 15 minutes, depending on how much she prepped for the dive. Today, however, she would be active in the water.

    With one last breath, she let go of the gate and kicked off the wall. The act propelled herself down and into view. Back and forth, she swam laps as she descended down the depths of the main tank, in front of the main viewing window allowing everyone to see her as she twisted and span. Rose kept a quick pace, not bothering yet to look at the spectators. Sometimes there were many, sometimes there were few- it didn't matter to her.

    With a twist and a flip, she dove in a shallow tunnel and gathered a breath from the air supply hose. With more flips and circles, she artfully put on a show while working all 1,300,000 gallons of the tank. No carcasses, no excessive waste, no signs of damage. More twirls and flips, more secret breaths and more inspection of creatures and enclosure alike. Work first, then the real show would start.

    Outside the tank, Tom, Chris and the children were captivated from the moment the mermaid came into sight. Mark, the man who greeted them and took them to what he promised was the best place to watch, right against the glass where they could see most of the tank, tucked into a corner that gave some privacy.

    Tom assumed that since he himself was an actor and this was anything but a high budget performance that he would be mildly impressed but no, when she came into view he was captivated by her with nothing less then childlike wonder. It shouldn't have been surprising, he had been a part of many theater productions over the years, he knew that cinema budgets and effects were not always needed to make magic. Yet he was indeed surprised and impressed.

    Blond hair danced behind her as she swam. Overhead lights danced and reflected on her hair, skin and tail. That tail, it was magnificent. It was hard to say what he expected, but this was not it. The fin trailed behind her elegantly as it seemed to be just as fluid as the water around her. It was long, paired with what appeared to be silken fabrics that seemed to dance as she moved, highlighting the graceful movements.

    Tom was suddenly sure that if mermaids were real, they would dress and adorn the base of their tail because it looked so right. The tail itself was dark, the fin just showed the hint of swirls of deep purples and blues, matching the fabrics that trailed around it. The tail itself was nearly black, yet each scale seemed to shine, blues and purples as light played off of them. The underbelly of the tail was lighter, almost a purer blue.

    When she swam passed them, They could see that even as the scales moved up over her hips, they became sparse and translucent until they were gone and her simple human belly was left unadorned. Light waved and illuminated the tiara on her head as she danced around corals and through tunnels, her hand petting over sharks and stingrays alike. The mermaid swam along side a massive sea turtle and paid no mind to sharks who's bodies were nearly four feet long.

    “She's not scared of the sharks?” A child nearby asked in amazement.

    “They know her, trust her and she them.” Mark spoke, finally beginning a small presentation. “They won't harm her unless they feel threatened. Our resident Mermaid cares for all of our aquatic creatures and with her help, we strive to provide the best environment for all our friends possible.”

    “Why do you have a mermaid princess? Shouldn't she be in the ocean?” It was Chris' oldest who voiced the question.

    “She loves the surface world and in exchange for helping us, she gets to learn more about life on the surface.” Mark channeled the Little Mermaid for that answer. No one really asked that one before, children typically just accepted that along with fish, dolphins, turtles and sharks, they would have a tank for a mermaid because why not?

    “She's not a real mermaid, dummies.” Said a older boy just far enough away. “She's just a pretend. Like how they pretend to be Thor and Loki.” The actors had been spotted and recognized, even in their somewhat private spot.  

    “I think she's very clearly a real mermaid.” Tom spoke up with a smile, not letting his eyes leave the beautiful creature for more then a moment. “How long has she been in?”

    “Going on ten minutes” Mark answered.

    “If she was just an actress, she would have had to surface for air by now.” Tom nodded to the boy, as an actor himself, he would know. “Clearly, she is the real deal.” Tom had no idea how she did it.

    After twenty minutes, the crowd began thinning and new comers started to filter in. Mark assured them that they show was best right before the end. No matter what she was doing at the moment, the kids were pressed up against the glass.

    “So what is she doing?” Chris asked Mark, soft enough that the kids wouldn't hear them talk about her as a normal person.

    “Being a mermaid princess.” Mark laughed before continuing, “She's checking the enclosure for damage, checking the animals for basic health and injuries and checking for any dead or excessive waste.

    “A lot of responsibility for someone who does a mermaid show.” Chris knew full well that that type of work normally would belong to someone with much more schooling then he assumed being a mermaid required.

    “The show came second, she's been here longer then the show. Don't underestimate her.” Mark smiled. Everyone always thought she was just a pretty face but he knew better.

    “I still can't figure out how she does it. We've been here for over half a hour and she still hasn't surfaced.”

    “It's because she's a mermaid.” One of the children piped up, earning laughs from the group.

    “Mermaids are like dolphins and whales.” Mark began the lecture anew as the mermaid swam along the sandy bottom, ducking into a tunnel and coming out the other side. “They breath the air and do have to surface from time to time. No one knows how often a mermaid has to surface however. Typically a mermaid only seems to vocalize above water, though sometimes you can hear them under the surface.

    Tom had to admit, Mark seemed to have a never ending supply of mermaid 'facts'. Mark waved them closer to the glass as they watched her approach a group not too far from them and rest her hand on the glass. It was nearing an hour into the swim now. Small children clamored to get closer and parents snapped pictures of their kids with the mermaid behind them.

    Mark instructed them to wait, that they wouldn't have to fight the crowd of they stayed put. She would come to them. With a flip and a twirl, the mermaid ducked behind a coral, playing a slight game of 'peek a boo' before returning to the group at the glass and when she blew them a kiss, it exploded in a ring of bubbles against the glass much to the delight of everyone.

    Slowly, Rose worked her way along the wall, looking for Mark who would be with her special guests. Smiling she flipped and twisted, peeking out from behind rocks where she stole much needed breaths. Her knees and hips were starting to ache again, this wasn't her first swim of the day but the shark tank was the most fun. Bubble kisses and bubble hearts were sent to children who's eyes showed nothing but joy. Occasionally she would blow a ring of bubbles and swim through it, before circling back around and swimming through the large 'sunken ship' fixture where she would hide for a short spell to catch her breath in a hidden air pocket. The air hoses were find and dandy but it was nice to breath normally before going to the last section of the tank where she was sure Mark would be waiting.

    One last deep breath and out she swam, doing a flip she swam belly out along the glass, letting all see the tail she paid way too much for. It performed amazingly so she couldn't complain, however she would make a few slight modifications to the inner fin to make it more comfortable. Finally, she set eyes on Mark who waved at her. Glare on the glass obscured the guests from her place but she had a target to swim toward at least. One flip and circle around a coral for a quick breath and she set about swimming up to them. For dramatics sake, she swam along the bottom, feeling the soft sand shift under her wake.

    Rose intended to swim, belly up the glass and do a slow flip where her face would be framed by the fabric dancing off the fin but almost froze when she saw them. It was luck that she managed to avoid hitting herself with the fin. While the smaller man could easily go unrecognized by someone only knowing him from his work with Marvel, Chris Hemsworth was unmistakable. Mark grinned, catching the falter in the flip and Rose made a mental note to splash him later.

    Slowly, as she straightened from her flip, she placed her hand against the glass as she always did for the kids to reach out and match their hands to hers. Chris was ready and eager to take pictures of his three kids. All in the party grinned wide, adults and children alike. Rose smiled at the kids as she made a heart with her hands, hovering over her own heart. The older girl copied her, bringing a large smile to Rose's face.

    Rose did another big loop, passing just out of sight to snag a breath before blowing an explosive bubble kiss a the kids who seemed to radiate pure joy. It was something that never got old, no matter how long she did the mermaid shows. Rather, it seemed to just get better with each new tail.

    Slowly she drifted up as Chris knelt with his kids. Blonde hair floated darkly around her, dancing in the slight current as her eyes met his.

    Tom Hiddleston. She had seen many of his works and knew him on sight. He was scruffy, but not bearded currently and his hair was a controlled mess of light curls cut shorter on the sides. The showy smile she wore for the kids morphed to a small smile of shock and joy.

    Being a mermaid for Chris and his kids was enough of a dream but never in her life did she expect to swim for Tom. Chris had kids, it kind of made sense but Tom, never would she have guessed. He wore a look of childlike wonder just the same as any kid standing at the tank glass. When she reached out and rested her hand on the glass, he slowly did the same with a wide smile. As her mind took a short vacation, Rose wondered if what they said about him was true, if he was really just a really tall five year old boy. He didn't look like a boy even though he wore a boyish grin.

    They stayed like that for a moment, not paying attention to those around them before a stingray ruined her moment. Rose wondered what barbecued stingray would taste like when the creature dumbly swam into the side of her head, demanding attention. They were like sea puppies sometimes.

    Breaking her eyes away from Tom's blue, she swam after the offensive creature, tickling under it's belly as it lead her into a flip. In her annoyance, she nearly whacked herself in the head with the heavy fin for a second time but was pleased when the ray finally swam away content and she turned to her special guests again. Tom's hand still rested on the glass and Rose was ever so happy to walk her fingers up from the children and Chris before resting her palm again over Tom's. For a moment, Rose wondered what he was thinking.

    The need for a fresh breath and ache in her legs however, told her she was in need of a break. All in all, she had been in the tank for a hour and a half. With the hand not on the glass, she quickly signaled to Mark that she would be leaving the tank momentarily. Rose sank down and waved at the three children as Chris stood. Again, she placed her palm against the glass, this time for Chris and he matched hers with a laugh. Even distorted through the glass and muffled, she could just hardly hear the booming sound and she almost laughed with him. Laughing under water was not a good idea. With careful flips to gather air, Rose sent small bubble kisses to the three children and their father before grabbing a lungful of air again.

    Finally, she floated up to Tom again as Mark spoke to Chris. With a parting smile she backed a bit away and brought her hands to her mouth and delivered him a kiss, blown in a ring full of bubbles and meant only for him. She watched as a delighted laughed shook his body but the sound was too distorted and muffled to really hear.

    As rose swam off, relaxed, twirling and spilling in the process while ignoring her body's cry for air as she had expelled most of it in the kiss, she smiled to herself. Tonight, she would spend as long in her tail with the children as they wanted, even if it dragged late into the night. Tonight, for as long as they wanted, she would be their mermaid. She would be Tom's mermaid.

    With a quick hand sign, she gave the order for the first gate to be opened. Once inside, she shooed a stingray back out and it closed, allowing the other to open. Rose ignored the grumble of her stomach and swam through the tunnel as her body cried for air she was being simply to lazy to give it.

    Outside the second gate, she finally surfaced with a gasping breath. It wasn't often she dove for that long on a breath, but it did her well to stay in the habit. Maybe next time she wouldn't spend so much time with nearly empty lungs however. One could never know when a air hose could fail and she could need to go farther then expected for her next breath. With nothing else to do, she turned onto her back and floated, waiting for the bell to sound that would inform her that the door had been opened.

    Tom was mesmerized when the mermaid directed her attention to his group. He hardly heard the cries of delight from the kids as she swam about interacting with them. Never once, did he see her break surface. He couldn't figure out how she did it but he knew she had to be getting air somehow but she was never out of sight for what seemed to be a few seconds.

    He had assumed that she would focus her attentions on the children and hadn't counted on being caught watching her so intently. When she floated up from the children, their eyes met and he couldn't help but grin. He didn't remember moving closer to the glass, but when she reached out and rested her palm on the hard surface, he did the same, just as the children did.

    She had crystal blue eyes, as light as the sky outside. When he looked down, he tried to spot where the tail ended and her skin began but couldn't. They stayed like that for what felt like too long yet at the same time, not nearly long enough. Tom knew he couldn't hold his breath that long but she didn't move or show any signs of distress. Their moment was comically interrupted as a stingray swam into her head. It was magically, perfectly imperfect. To his side, Chris pocketed his phone with a laugh as the mermaid swam after the creature, agitation clear even in the graceful arching of her body as she worked through the water.  

    “You're having as much fun as the kids.” Chris remarked. “I got a good shot of you with her too.”

    Before Tom could defend himself, she was back, waving, smiling and blowing airy kisses to the children. She would dart away and return and eventually offered her palm to Chris. The children urged him to put his palm up and he did as wished. His hand was so much larger then hers. After a few beats with Chris, she returned her attention to him and offered her palm. Tom matched it just the same with a smile as Mark spoke with Chris.

    “She'll be surfacing in a minute and heading to the dolphin pools. We have life vests and spare swim gear, if the group would like to swim with them?” Chris nodded and thanked the man but Tom's attention stayed with the mermaid who drifted back, a vision of elegance as her hair floated around her.

    When they locked eyes again, she dramatically drew her hands to her mouth and blew him a kiss surrounded by a ring of bubbles that washed against the glass. Tom couldn't help but laugh at the display as she swam away.

    While he played magic on movie sets, she had to be magic in the flesh, Tom decided they followed Mark through the hotel. Her display for them had been no different then what she did for the other guests, yet Tom wondered if she knew who they were. She did spend longer interacting with them at the window but she would do that for anyone who was a special guest. He was left to his thoughts of the magical mermaid as the children talked their father's ear off, clearly just as captivated by her as he himself was.

    Everyone was excited to meet the mermaid. Mark had took them into a room to change and recommended unless their phones were waterproof to leave them far away from the water's edge. It was a old standard warning, more and more people had waterproof phones, Tom and Chris both included.

    The sound of the bell over the door woke Rose from her light doze. Getting so relaxed was a bad idea, her joints felt stiff as she turned off her back and pulled her lower half down into the water. Everyone was dressed in water gear, good. With a breath, Rose slowly sank under the water before she was spotted and signaled two dolphins to her side. Now was the time for payback, even if it had collateral damage.

    In between the two Dolphins, she mimicked how they swam, rising out of the water in a wave, letting her tail catch the light as she dove back under the water just to repeat the action. Each time she surfaced, she snagged a breath and a look, lining up with the group now watching from the pool's edge.  As they reached the edge, she and the two dolphins dove low and surfaced in a flip that landed Rose tail up in the water. Rather than righting herself in any graceful or elegant way, she slammed her tail down while giving the sign for the dolphins to spit water at the target.

    Today, the target was Mark who after the dolphin's assault and the wave created by her fin slapping the water, was well and truly drenched. Chris and the twins fared better but still ended up a bit soggy as they laughed in delight. Rose surfaced, ignoring the pain in her ankle from her splashing stunt. There was a part of the inner fin she made a mental note to trim later.

    “Rose, What was that for?!” Mark cried as he wiped water off his face before pointing at the dolphins who began backing away to escape and play. “You two, you are traitors!”

    “Dear Sir, please forgive me. Tis but only how a mermaid greets their friends.” Rose chuckled as she spoke. “Now, I hear I have some special guests. Would you three be those who wished an audience with me?” Her attention was now wholly on the kids.

    They chattered a bit and soon, everyone was in the water. While they were busy petting the dolphins she freed her hair from the ties, slipping them around her wrist for safe keeping and set her tiara on the edge of the pool where it glittered in the sun.

    Chris, Tom and the kids all joined her in the water. Rose told stories of the ocean and the places she had swam, artfully mixing fantasy with reality as she edited her research travels into magical stories of mermaid pods and undersea kingdoms.

    With tiny arms around her neck, Rose gave mermaid rides where dolphins swam at their sides. The whole area was full of laughter as the children urged their father to take a “Mermaid ride”, earning a deep blush from the adults. Rose had been so focused on the children that it was easy enough to almost forget about the two very attractive men.

    “I'm too big!” Chris protested. “Too heavy. It'd be mean to make her pull me around.”

    “Want to bet, big guy?” Rose knew full well that her legs would be jelly before long but how could she pass the chance to show off? It was a once in a lifetime chance. Additionally, she didn't like anyone assuming she couldn't do anything. Even if it was something as stupid as pulling around a man who was twice her size in nearly every way. She swam up and presented her back to him as large arms wrapped around her sounders. “Relax and keep your legs to the side. Hold your breath when I say and tap when you need air.”

    Before Chris could question, Rose was off with strong strokes of her tail they surged through the water, not nearly as fast as she could with the kids. Occasionally, Chris' legs got in the way and he would get a powerful whack from the fin. The man grinned with his own delight at the ride and almost forgot to hold his breath when instructed. In a swift motion they surged up and forward, diving down under the surface.

    Rose twisted and turned, spinning their bodies as Chris clutched to her shoulders. Rose didn't wait for him to tap for air, rather she surfaced them in front of the rock cluster Tom and the children were resting on when his hand lifted from her shoulder. The cool of the water tamed her blush, Even if Chris wasn't her type, he was still a fine looking, wet man pressed up on her.

    “See, a mermaid is stronger then she looks.” Rose laughed as Chris climbed onto the rocks and tickled his tired children.

    “That was fun, I'll admit that. Tom, you should take a ride too!” He nudged his friend and laughed when a flush covered his cheeks. Tom cursed double meanings while sliding off the rock. Rose dove under the water and flipped three times, allowing the cool waters to calm her heated face while she prayed that no one caught her blush.

    “If you don't mind?” Tom smiled at her when she surfaced, right in front of him and she nearly cursed herself when she almost gasped in water.

    “No, no, tis what a Mermaid Princess does.” Presenting her back to him, she hoped Chris and the kids wouldn't see the flush on her face as it bloomed anew. The sly smile Chris shot them however, did nothing to convince her that she had him fooled. “Arms around the shoulders, please try not to strangle me. Keep your legs off to the side unless you want some new bruises that would be hard to explain.”

    “Like this?” Rose's mind went blank when Tom got into position. He was so firm against her and long. Really, both men were so similar in height but Tom felt longer. It was a trick of perception since he was so much leaner. Chris, she felt confident diving with, he was well known for his love of water but with Tom she wanted to make sure to keep him safe. If she accidentally drowned him, she wouldn't be able to enjoy any of his future works, after all. Rose realized she didn't actually answer him.

    “Yeah, that's good.” God damn was it good, she could feel his muscles work as he moved his legs to help keep above water. This was a good day to be a mermaid. A very good day. “How are you with diving and holding your breath?”

    “Diving is fine. I'm not sure how long I can go however, not nearly as long as you.” Strands of her hair danced around him and when it brushed against him in the water, her hair felt like liquid silk.

    “Okay, so when I say to hold your breath, take a deep breath and hold it. Tap my shoulder when you need air and we'll surface. Don't wait till the last second.” As he breathed, she could feel his breath washing over her neck, shoulder and passed her ear. When he nodded his understanding, she took off.

    He was much easier to pull then Chris, much lighter and being less bulky, he dragged easier through the water. When she would glace over her shoulder at him, a wide toothy grin was plastered across his face. Chris and the children were swimming their way to the edge of the pool and so Rose swam by them, raising her tail out of the water to splash them on the way by.

    “Ready to go down?” She didn't so much feel his nod as she did his chest expand, filling with a large breath of air. When it didn't contract again, she dove under.

    Swirling, her hair danced around them. Down, down she took them while being ever mindful of the time. Strong legs propelled them around the coral and rock formations as she brought her hands up to hold onto his forearms. As she turned, swimming on her back and letting him see the world above them as she so often saw it. When she glanced at him and their eyes met. This was truly the most amazing day of her life, to share this with a man she had respected and admired for so long, even if he wouldn't remember her name after a few days. It may not mean much to him in the grandness of his life, but she felt truly blessed as she took them to the surface and reluctantly let go of his arms.

    The evening flew by and soon the sun was well set and the children rested at the pool edge. She showed them dolphin tricks and told more stories as the evening turned to night. Rose slipped her tiara off the pool edge and rested it on the eldest child's head.

    “I dare say, it looks better on you!” The little girl's face was cut with a large smile.

    They played and talked until after 9pm. The twins had fallen off into sleep on a beach chair and the remaining child was nearly following. Mark brought over a cart, padded and adorned with seaweed, flowers and shells, earning a groan from Rose.

    “We still have that ugly thing?” Rose couldn't help but laugh as Mark smiled cheekily, knowing full well he was to trash the monstrosity when the last tunnel was finished and never did.

    “You can use it to cart the kids up to your room, just leave it outside and someone will bring it back” Mark offered and before long, three sleeping children were placed luggage cart turned mermaid bench.

    “Or put a sign on it that says 'burn me', that would work too.” Rose hated that thing.  

    “Thank you, Miss Mermaid Rose, for everything today. They will remember this for a long time. It means a lot to them and me.” Chris spoke with sincerity that made it clear that his family was the most important thing in the world to him. The children's joy was his joy.

    “Rose. Just Rose for you two.” She had let them call her 'Mermaid', 'Princess' and 'Highness' as that was what she was to them.

    “Thank you, Rose.” With a nod, Chis spoke again. “I should get them to bed. You coming Mate?” Tom didn't rise from the waters when he spoke.

     “I'm going to rest here for a bit, I think my legs are dead. I'll see you in the morning.” With a nod, Chris left them and Tom finally felt comfortable to ask the questions he had been trying to figure out all day as he sat on the pool edge, feet and shins in the water. “How do you do it?”

    “Do what?” With a smile, Rose looked up at him from where she rested, arms draped over the pool edge.

    “Stay under for so long. I can't figure it out.” When she laughed at him, Tom felt silly for asking. “I understand if it's a trade secrete.”

    “Have you ever been scuba diving?” The look on Tom's face showed he didn't follow but he nodded just the same. “Dive with me, and I'll show you.”

    “I can't believe you're not tired.” Tom himself felt spent from all the swimming. All he got in response was a smile as she slipped into the water and presented her back to him.

    From his place, he could just see the blush that dusted her cheeks as she told him to take a deep breath and to trust her. So he did and down they went. Down and around to the rocks, down along the pillars before she stopped and with sure hands, motioned for him to let go of her. She looked magnificent, under the water in front of him, hair dancing around and silk fabrics billowing around her fin.

    With one hand firmly on his bicep to keep him from floating up or away, she motioned to the rocks where she pulled a mesh fabric back, revealing a air hose and regulator. With the press of a button, a stream of bubbles erupted before she handed it to him and Tom took a few needy breaths. What surprised him was that she did not, rather she grabbed him and dived farther down and away from the rocks as he moved back into place, holding her around her shoulders.

    When they stopped this time, she pulled a regulator from a mess of fake seaweed and handed it to him. Again, she did not breath herself and Tom was starting to wonder if she was actually human at all. A third regulator was shown in some decorative coral along the wall and again, while he breathed, she did not. Finally, they surfaced. Rose couldn't help but gasp for a large breath of air and silently remind herself that showing off like that could get her killed.

    “Okay, that's how I could do it but you didn't breath.” Tom pointed the obvious out, even as he didn't let go of her and she laughed. It was a magical sound, raspy a bit with the need of air but it was free and sounded like bells.

    “I can go ten to 15 minutes.” Rose admitted as she slowly pulled them to the edge of the pool. “It's a part of the training. My body is just used to it after all these years.”

    “That's amazing.” Tom admitted, pulling himself out of the water. “I couldn't even begin to fathom the training just to be a mermaid.”

    “You train for your roles, do you not?” Rose pointed out. “And I'm not just a mermaid. I do this for fun, this is the side job.” A laugh softened the message but it was clear to Tom that he had done what many must of done, wrote her off as just a mermaid.

    “True. What is the main job?” With a splash, she pulled herself partially out of the water only to slide back in with a huff.

    “Marine Biologist.” Rose admitted, trying again to get out of the pool. “All the tanks are my responsibility, here and in a few other resorts. It's more fun for the kids if I inspect them dressed like this. Scuba gear is pretty boring to look at.”

    The third time she tired to pull herself from the water, she almost made it but managed to splash Tom well and good in the process. “Could I give you a hand?”

    “Yes, please?” With her joints feeling like jelly, she was well and truly stuck in the water and swimming to the ramp on the other side of the pool didn't sound like fun. Nor did figuring out how to shimmy out of the tail on her own but one thing at a time.

    Tom reached down and with a firm grip around her arms, drew her up and out of the water. As he pulled her up, his arms moved around her back for a better grip. In the process, he pulled her to his chest while dragging the tail out and over the edge of the pool. He didn't set her down, didn't take her to a seat. For a moment, he just stood, holding a mermaid to his chest as water slicked down their bodies and the warm night air surrounded them. Tom was supporting all of her weight, with her knees unhinged and bent behind her, she was unable to support herself without awkwardly flopping the tail around in front of her and she still wouldn't be able to walk.

    “Thank you.” It was Rose who broke the silence, looking away. “Sorry to get you wet all over again.”

    “It's no trouble.” With the moment broken, Tom helped her to sit on the pool edge, wide enough to double as a bench and sat next to her and motioned to the tail. “This is truly amazing. Even out of the water, I can hardly see where the tail starts.”     “It better be, lord knows this sucker cost me an arm, a leg and half my soul.” While she tired to tell herself not to blush while Tom looked intently to her abdomen, telling herself that he was looking at the tail.

    “Thank you, Rose.” Tom spoke softly, seriously. “ You made everyone's night, tonight. I'd have never imagined doing this, never dreamed of it but you made it happen. You, darling, are amazing. Never did I think I'd swim with a mermaid.”

    Just a ghost of a feeling gave away that Tom had rested his hand on her thigh, over the tail. She tried to tell herself that he probably had no sense of where his hand was, her whole lower half was covered in silicone.

    “Never did I think I would swim with the God of Thunder or Jonathan Pine.” Rose smiled up at him as his eyes widened.

    “Not Loki?” Normally people always tied him to Loki. If someone knew Chris as Thor, he would be tied as Loki.

    “You don't look much like Loki like this. More like Pine, for sure. Not that I can't see Loki, you're just not that pale and without the dark hair.” Oh god she was rambling. Alone with Tom fucking Hiddleston and she was rambling. “Sorry.”

    “No, no! It's fine, really. I was just surprised.” It was nice to be seen as something other then Loki. For so many now, he was just Loki. “I was starting to think you didn't know who we were.” Tom admitted and she laughed at him.

    “I don't live underwater, Tom. I just spend most of my days there. Occasional they roll in a TV for the resident mermaid to watch.” She admitted, half joking and looking away. Suddenly she felt so much below him, just a fan.

    “Yet you look so perfectly in place, perfectly beautiful, underwater.” The words drew her eyes back to him. She could just feel his thumb rubbing along the silicone scales on her upper thigh. He had to have known where his hand was, the tail creased and folded where her legs bent at the hips, just a few short inches above his hand. She was leaning back, out of habit to prevent the tail from pinching her and so, he was twisted to face her.

    “Thank you.” The words were just a breath, almost inaudible. Soon, they were sitting in silence. Rose didn't know what else to say as she started to drown in his ocean blue eyes. They were a pure blue, unlike anything she had seen. Pictures hadn't ever done them justice.

    He turned to face her better, drawing his hand up her outer thigh and over the curve of her hip. The silicone was thinner there, and she could feel the warmth and pressure of his hand clearer as he softly gripped her, holding her in place. Heat radiated off him as he hovered over her, supporting his weight on his outstretched arm.

    When her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest, Rose contemplated diving back into the water to escape but with how tired she was, how sore she was, she would likely drown even if she wasn't trying to have a heart attack. Additionally, whatever it was that was happening, she didn't not want it to happen. Head and heart both were overwhelmed as she took him in. Stubble dusted his face and a light tan complemented his features well, even as they stood out sharp. When her eyes returned to his, she just caught the flicker of his eyes from where they were downcast. Perhaps he took in her whole appearance again. As he moved closer to her, his eyes, dropping again she was sure he was looking at her lips.

    Breath hitched in her chest as she tilted her head up to him. Painfully slowly, he descended on her as his hand finally moved from her hip to where it rested in the curve of her waist. When he was a breath away, her eyelids fell to nothing but slits and she wondered if his did the same. A heartbeat later, his lips ghosted over hers and she stopped wondering for a moment.

    His lips were soft and just as sweet as the kiss. Tom's thumb rubbed softly on her skin and when she didn't pull away, Tom pressed himself firmer against her lips and breathed a sigh. When she shifted her position, he made to pull back but she followed him, not letting their lips part. Softly, Rose brought her hand around and rested it on Tom's forearm before allowing it to slowly trail up.

    Tom was surprised that she didn't push him away. He supposed he shouldn't be, she was a fan. On that note, he also shouldn't be kissing her, because she was a fan. Yet the whole time, she had treated him as if he was just a man, causing him to doubt himself as any man would in her presence. Softly, her hand ran up his arm and across his back. Fingers played with the curls at the back of his neck as Tom's arm snaked around her back, pulling her to him.

    The change of position caused her elbow to buckle under her weight but Tom supported her just the same and so another arm snaked up his arm to rest on his chest. She could feel the strain of muscles as he leaned her back slowly, resting her on the hard surface as he nibbled at her lower lip. When she gasped, his tongue darted inside to explore. The kiss turned hungry, passionate and Rose was left cursing her tail as it held her legs awkwardly together when she wanted nothing more then to run her leg up his, to hook an ankle around his back, to pull him as close as she could. Finally, they parted and Tom gazed down at her.

    “I had never expected to kiss a mermaid.” With a smile he kissed her again, pressing himself into her for a passionate moment before pulling back. He wanted nothing more then to do it again. Rose wanted nothing more then to let him.

    “Fairy tails do happen.” If she was talking about him kissing a mermaid or her kissing an actor, Tom couldn't be sure. Maybe both. Probably both. The heavy blush on her cheeks looked right at place and he found himself wanting to keep her flushed. It was a good look on her. A great look on her.

    “What would a man have to do to be blessed to take a lovely sea creature to dinner?” Tom asked, motivated by the rumble of her stomach announcing its own need.

    “You, kind Sir, need but only to ask. And maybe help me out of this thing.” Rose laughed as she began rolling down the mesh that hugged her lower waist, then the silicone over her hips.

    “You just roll it off?” Tom asked, tugging and folding the material down as it fought to keep in place. He expected some sort of fasteners, a zipper maybe. Something?

    “It's not easy on, easy off. That's why I've been trapped in it for the last four hours or so.” Rose admitted with a laugh. In truth, she badly needed to pee and wasn't wholly sure her legs could support walking right away. Plus, she missed dinner, was starving and Tom asked her to dinner. Did he mean tonight? She was assuming so, but it was so late. With a deep breath, she reminded herself to stop over thinking. Overthinking was bad.  

    Once her legs were free from the tail, Tom adverted his eyes after quickly taking in her legs. It felt like he was seeing a hidden part of her with the tail gone, a special part of her. It felt intimate, even as she wore a conservative bikini. She wore just a bikini and he had seen many a pair of legs but with her, it seemed so different.

    Instead of allowing the awkwardness to linger, her offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. Rose's knees buckled nearly instantly and her ankles screamed in pain as she fell against him, where she was encircled by his strong arms that held her up.

    “Are you okay?” Worry tinged his voice.

    “Just a bit wobbly, I've been swimming too long.” Rose laughed as she looked up at him. It was a strange day to be a mermaid. Tom leaned down and kissed her before taking her legs out from under her.

    “Lead the way, Dear Princess.” Today was a good day to be a mermaid. Today was a good day to visit Vegas. Today was a good day.

@kristinaraven99, It’s posted love. 

[sending-the-message]

Furfur by Ilunibi

Going to college was hard on both me and Dead Coyote. Of course he was proud of me--he’d watched me juggle exorcisms and calculus the entire time I was in high school--but we’d grown comfortable with one another’s presence. Dependent, I guess is a less nice way to put it in my case. He could take care of himself a bit more than I could take care of me, and I didn’t realize it until I was standing in my dorm with my scant few belongings that I honestly had no idea what the hell I was going to do with myself.

Eighteen. Free. Lucky enough to get a room to myself. Yet, there I was, standing dead in the center of a bare-bones room staring at the full-length mirror on the back of the door, confused and scared and honestly wishing that I could just throw my acceptance letter in the face of the dean and go back home. Home, of course, being Dead Coyote’s couch. I know it smelled like skunk and Camel cigarettes, but it was also warm and cozy and familiar.

And welcoming. I didn’t exactly feel wanted in college.

Most people who practice my particular craft don’t advertise it because it’s a pretty isolating way of living, even with other believers. I found out after trying to join the pagan alliance on campus that the little Wiccan do-gooders who preached about white magic and crystals didn’t fancy the idea of including a newcomer whose entire magical history revolved around the Ars Goetia and necromancy. They heard “left-hand path” and assumed that I was some misguided, edgy freshman or some poor, lost soul who was destined to live a dark and miserable life brought upon me by vengeful demons and restless raccoon ghosts. I told myself they were just intimidated by the fact that I had nearly a decade of experience and actually got results, that they were all fad-witches who’d give it up once it stopped making them feel like manic pixie dream girls, though I knew honestly that I was just bitter and lonely.

I talked pretty frequently to Dead Coyote, though, and that was my respite. Where most college kids would call their mom to ask how to do their laundry or cook a meal that wasn’t ramen and Kraft dinner, I’d call and ask about whether candle color mattered for casual non-Goetic invocations, how to get wax out of carpeting, and how to keep a smoke alarm from going off. The latter he had a few different answers to for several different reasons, and I appreciated his expertise. It probably saved me a fine or two.

One week became two weeks became a month, and I really hadn’t made any friends or done anything beyond my basic, nightly rituals and piles upon piles of homework. Fortunately, by the time August ended and September began, I found that I was perfectly capable of operating like an adult and even found a couple of casual acquaintances who’d wave at me in public. It still wasn’t the same, though. Going back to an empty dorm was a blessing and a curse because, while I didn’t have to worry about somebody asking me why I had satchels of grass drying in my window and candles stockpiled in my closet like I was preparing for Armageddon, I also didn’t have anyone to sit around and shoot the shit with. And honestly, years of being part of a team made magic on my own feel painfully lonely and much less powerful.

“Princess, you are just forty-five minutes away,” Dead Coyote groaned into the phone when I called him, crying.

“I don’t have a car, DC.”

“Yeah, but you know who does? Me. Do you wanna hang this weekend or what?”

I told him that it would be a waste of gas to drive me back and forth. He told me it would be worth the trip. While he’d enjoyed the calm in my absence for the first few days, the quiet was starting to grate on his nerves. And, if I felt so strongly about him spending his cash on gas, he’d just stop by and visit me to cut down on fuel. If I wanted him to stay the whole weekend, hell, he’d just sleep in his car. He’d slept in worse places, he said, though I told him I’d rather him not elaborate. I didn’t want to know what was more disgusting than the backseat of his Grand Prix.

When he arrived, my RA--who just so happened to be one of the leaders of the pagan alliance--eyeballed him suspiciously in the lobby as she tapped her pen against the clipboard with the visitor registry. I can still remember the look of disbelief on her face, tucking her chin down and glaring up at me over her glasses. All she would have needed was a wad of gum smacking in her mouth and she’d look like an extra in an ‘80s movie.

“So, is he your--?”

I told her that he was my older brother which, in retrospect, was a dumb idea. I’m pretty sure that if somebody was asked to draw the polar opposite of me in every way, they would have had a quick sketch of Dead Coyote. She shifted her gaze between us and offered us the tightest, most unconvincing smile I’ve ever seen a person manage.

“I’ll just put down he’s your… uh, boyfriend.”

Dead Coyote laughed a little harder than he should have.

If he felt awkward stomping around a crowded building full of awkward college girls, he didn’t show it. They definitely felt that he was out of place, though, gawking and whispering as I just kept chirping at the side of his head about local gossip while he listed off my neighbors and classmates who’d gotten knocked up, arrested, and knocked up then arrested. It was satisfying to hear that, after I was off to college to make something of myself, Jessica Schneider had found her final form as a white-trash party girl who had been locked up after being found with cocaine in her possession. I shouldn’t have laughed, but I was petty enough to still hate her.

While we chatted, I noticed Dead Coyote growing more and more distracted the further we went down the hall. My room was situated at the very end next to a dead light but his eyes kept drifting around like he was looking for something--or someone--in particular. By the time we were at the middle of the corridor, he was casting worried glances over his shoulder, and at the end, he was walking completely backwards. The girl who lived across from me cursed at him when he nearly mowed her down, but he didn’t seem to notice she existed. His brows were furrowed, his lip raised in a mix of disgust and bewilderment, but try as I might I could not figure out what he was looking at.

Residents? A chip in the wall? A bug? Somebody’s gaudy door decoration? Given who it was, he honestly could have been distracted by anything. Even after getting clean-ish, his attention span was as bad as his memory.

When I opened the door, he gently bumped me inside with his hip and ducked in after me like getting to my room was a stealth operation. It shut with a bang that echoed like a gunshot and I realized that I hadn’t even had a chance to get my key out of the lock. I stared at him, he stared at me. After a moment of me drawling like an idiot while I tried to decide whether to ask him what his problem was or if I could get my key, he plopped down on my bed and nodded his head toward the door.

“Who’s in room 14B?”

I didn’t know. When I told him, his confusion turned to concern and he immediately began to ransack my desk. Ignoring anything scandalous he found, he dragged out a pad of yellow legal paper and the fattest marker he could find, scribbling a magic triangle dead in the center with a single word of wisdom bolded and underlined directly beneath it.

STOP.

And with that, he was out the door. I followed him through a smattering of freshman girls as he explained, a bit too loudly, that something was very, very wrong in room 14B. I flinched as a few of them tittered when he started into the metaphysics, preaching darkness and bad vibes and demonology. Yet, more than the embarrassment of being exposed to a few nonbelievers, I was intrigued because I couldn’t really wrap my mind around not being the only practitioner on campus who dabbled in anything heavier than aromatherapy and meditating under trees. Hell, I was almost hopeful.

The stuff he told me was admittedly pretty grim, though. There was power coming from that room, like electricity, and he had no idea how I hadn’t noticed before. He thought he’d taught me better than that. Whatever it was, he said he could feel that the air was so charged that it was nearly painful. The kind of static that makes your hair stand on end and your arms break out in goose skin and makes your head pulse and your teeth hurt.

“They’re up to something and they suck at it, and it’s gonna backfire like a sonuvabitch,,” he explained in front of me and a curious blonde clutching a bowl of Captain Crunch. He stopped in front of 14B, glowered at the tacky cork board hanging on the door, and unceremoniously unpinned a happy little note written in glittery purple pen. It was quickly replaced with his warning, a warning he then had to explain to Cereal Girl after she asked with a full mouth what the fancy triangle was for.

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly, thankfully. Dead Coyote taught me a few new invocations, he helped me with some spells I’d been tinkering with, we threw rocks at cars, and I got to eat actual food that wasn’t the prison-slop the dining hall shelled out. It’s hard to imagine that there was ever a day where an A&W burger would make anyone feel like they were sitting at a banquet in the halls of Valhalla, but you do not understand how special it felt to be eating food that wasn’t university pizza.

After he returned me to my humble abode and picked a parking lot to camp in, I found the RA office empty and the lobby strangely quiet. I tromped up to my floor and started down the hall, taking a quick glance at 14B to see if the message had been received. I half expected it to still be there, but it was gone, ripped off so violently that I could see a shred of lined paper still clinging to the cork board. It was concerning, but I decided I wasn’t the person to fight Dead Coyote’s battles for him.

“Miranda wasn’t happy.”

A voice stopped me and I turned, curious, to see the girl with the bowl of cereal from earlier. This time she had a Hot Pocket, munching as nonchalantly as she had been before. If Dead Coyote ever had a spirit animal, I’m pretty sure it would be Cereal Girl.

I asked who Miranda was and Cereal Girl looked back at room 14B and pursed her sauce-stained lips.

“Miranda? The RA? You really don’t know who she is?”

The RA? That was a shock. I remembered back to my very brief attempt at interacting with the pagan alliance and how she had been so fucking bitter when I told her what it was I did in my spare time. Her, with her pretty auburn curls and her button nose and bohemian earrings and weird, sepia-tinted Instagram selfies. She was the kind of person to shop at Whole Foods and refuse to wear a bra because they were against the will of Mother Gaia. She was not exactly the type of girl I pegged as being capable of setting off all of Dead Coyote’s alarms.

But, I didn’t tell Cereal Girl this. I just told her that, aside from some brief interactions here and there, I wasn’t really familiar with her. I didn’t even know that was her room. I hadn’t even known her name.

“Huh. Weird. ‘Cause she knew exactly who left her that note. I didn’t even have to tell her.”

She gestured at my room at the end of the hall and told me she’d returned the favor. A cold fear filled my stomach and it dropped like a rock straight through the rest of me. While I doubted that somebody on the fast road to fucking up basic ceremonial magic could do much to threaten me, she was still somebody who was on the fast road to fucking up basic ceremonial magic and that was dangerous in and of itself. And if she had it out for me? Hoo, boy, she may not hit me, but with how tedious and detail-oriented it all is, I could imagine what she could do to herself or somebody else.

When I reached my door, though, all that was taped to it was a flowery piece of stationery with a single crest on it: Glasyalabolas. No pentacles, no Sigillum Dei, nothing. Just the crest of Glasylabolas, drawn incorrectly in that same purple gel pen as the note Dead Coyote unpinned from her door. Honestly, it was kind of amusing, but I knew enough to take it as a threat. Even if she was horribly inept, she still had the audacity to try to summon the patron demon of manslaughter in my dorm room. I briefly wondered what she would think if she knew I’d danced with that dog before.

“Okay, what does that mean?” Cereal Girl asked. I untaped the paper, took a pencil out of my bag, and wrote Miss Miranda a note on the back. My new friend trailed me as I walked back to 14B but I never said a word. I just left my new nemesis a friendly little bit of advice for her to find the next morning.

That’s not how this works. Stop it.

As soon as I woke up the following day, I was out at Dead Coyote’s camping spot and climbing in the passenger’s seat of his car. I resolved that I would just spend a lazy Sunday outside of my dorm so I wouldn’t have to think too hard about Miranda and her hypocrisy. We wound up near some nature trail just outside of town and the entire day was spent talking about life and our ambitions and getting back to the basics of him teaching me Spanish profanity and me telling him about my days at school.

We only decided to head back to civilization when the sun started hanging low in the sky, Dead Coyote pitching his last cigarette and sighing, “Well, princess, let’s get you home.”

We only made it partway.

There’s a stretch of road just down the hill from my old dorm that was typically lit up like Vegas at night. I guess enough pedestrians complained that drivers nearly killed them and enough drivers complained about the people-shaped deer that the city council decided it was a good idea to make sure daytime never ended in that one spot. I didn’t immediately get worried when, for the first time in ever, we cruised up the street in pitch-black nothingness, but the closer we got to my final destination for the night I began to feel a prickling across my skin, like static. Side-eying Dead Coyote proved he wasn’t really reacting to it, but the tingle became a burn and that burn became a sharp prick of pain. I flinched in my seat, then smashed into the dashboard as Dead Coyote slammed the brakes.

I would have cussed, but when I looked up, Dead Coyote was staring dead ahead like an alien spacecraft had landed in front of his car. Nose bleeding, I peeked over the edge of the dashboard and struggled to focus my eyes. For a second, all I saw was color and movement: swaying and pale gray. It hurt to look at and the sharp prick of pain grew into a throbbing, stabbing warmth that roiled in my belly and tried to tear its way out of my skin.

“Oh. Shit.”

Dead Coyote’s voice was low, level, but his eyes were pure panic. I saw why when my double vision finally melded together and there, standing in the middle of the road, was a pallid deer with bright, blazing eyes. They were the same color as lightning, hot and white but, for whatever reason, my brain interpreted it as blue.

“Oh… shit,” I echoed, watching as the deer--with strangely human confidence--raised its antlered head high and sauntered across the road. Dead Coyote watched quietly, poked his head out of the car window, and mumbled under his breath as it vanished into the trees. Even outside of the glare of his headlights, it still seemed to give off its own ghastly glow.

He pulled over immediately, dug through the trash in his floorboard for his emergency cigarettes, then jumped across me to grab a flashlight from his glove box. And some chalk. And every leftover salt packet he had collected from every fast food restaurant he’d been to in the past twelve months, which he ripped open and dumped into the chest pocket on his flannel jacket.

“Get out of the car, princess. You know what that was.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. We both knew what and who had just traipsed past us and the fact that he was just wandering around freely like a stray dog did not bode well for anyone or anything in his path.

Furfur.

You can go ahead and giggle at the name--it’s kind of stupid--but if you ignore the name and look to the meat of the matter, Furfur is not the kind of demon you’d want to square off with. Grimoire entries about him are vague and make him seem non-threatening--a mischievous deer who compulsively lies and likes shiny rocks and playing Cupid--but the problem with those entries is that they’re so vague because controlling him is an absolute bitch that nobody wants to bother with. Only under very specific circumstances will he work with a conjurer and, even then, you have to have every failsafe in check to keep him honest. If he’s dishonest, he will waste no time in trying to talk you down the most self-destructive path he can manage.

Dead Coyote, in his younger days, found that out the hard way.

More concerning though was that he was physically there, skin, bones, antlers, and all. Now, even though a lot of these stories I’ve told you would make you think that ceremonial magic is flash, pizazz, and physical interaction, you have to remember that the stories I pick out are ones that are unique and interesting. Most people into ceremonial magic never see anything overtly odd in their entire lives, and even those of us who have experience intense feelings more than we actually get a gander at the big guys. Even if you do see them up-close and personal, they’re normally bound. They can’t really leave where they were summoned, at least if you’re doing it right.

But somebody wasn’t doing it right.

I don’t even think we checked to see if anyone was coming before we bolted across the road--Dead Coyote scrambling over the hood of the car in his panic--and we ran a pretty fair distance before either of us thought to turn on the flashlight. Stumbling, hissing, spitting, we tore through the underbrush even as it threatened to tear through us, blackberry briars and switch-worthy shrubs grabbing at our clothes and lashing across our faces. I felt blood dripping down my forehead and my arms and saw Dead Coyote with briar-covered vines wrapped around his jeans and twigs stuck in his hair. The entire time, he was grumbling and groaning like a teenager bitching about doing his chores.

“Stupid goddamn 14B bitch thinks she knows what she’s doin’ but she don’t know, princess, she has no goddamned idea what she’s doin’ and she’s lucky as fuck that I’m here because I actually read more than one goddamned motherfucking piece of shit book on the subject unlike her dumbass and I fucking swear, princess, she better hope I don’t find her ‘cause--”

This went on for a while. One continuous sentence without so much as a pause that lasted all the way to a clearing among the trees that eventually faded into what looked like a local farm. Overgrown wild grass was separated from trimmed grazing ground by a rickety wooden fence, the entire expanse illuminated by the moon. And there, standing proudly like he was waiting for us, was the deer.

Dead Coyote reached for the salt in his pocket. Through some chance miracle, our stomping around in the underbrush between the street and the clearing hadn’t ripped a hole in it. I expressed concern pretty much immediately about how effective salt would be against a bona fide Goetic power, but he just glowered at me and huffed a tangled strand of hair out of his face.

“Princess, the only thing better than salt is holy water, and I ain’t packin’ that today. I do have, like, what? Half a cup of Burger King salt? We make do, a’ight?”

Slowly, we crept toward the deer. Looking back, I’m not quite sure why, as Furfur was watching us the whole time, painfully aware of what we were doing, rigid and strong and unwavering. He didn’t really believe we would do anything to him, or that we could even if we tried. Part of me wants to believe it was out of habit--deer are normally so easily spooked--but I know that I was absolutely petrified. I had never encountered anything so strong that was unbound, and I could still remember that feeling of electricity and pain in my stomach when we nearly hit it with the car. I didn’t want to be near Furfur but I knew in the bottom of my heart that the only person qualified to get rid of him in the area was Dead Coyote, and armed only with salt packets? Well, he sure as shit couldn’t do it alone.

We were almost within salt-throwing distance when Furfur turned to me and smiled. Human teeth in a deer mouth, stretched as wide as it could, grinning at me with a glint of curiosity and maliciousness in its eyes. That tearing feeling in my abdomen came back and every nerve in my skin flared to life like a thousand white-hot pins were being jammed into me. Dead Coyote opened his mouth to speak, but his voice trailed off when I keeled over.

“Lonely. Empty.”

Furfur’s voice was an echoing, monotone whisper. His mouth moved in a way far too human to be anything but horrifying.

“Come to harm me. I can help you.”

I still don’t know why I remember everything he said. Maybe it’s because of the fact he was so powerful and supernatural that he just willed his little speech to burn itself into my mind. Maybe I did it myself, seeing as trauma can be a bitch. But, while I was rolling on the ground, clutching my stomach, vision blurry and nerve endings screaming, he spoke to me. Slow, rhythmic, almost taunting, and every word made my heart squeeze like it would burst.

He told me how disgusting I was. He told me how I made my mother miserable, how much she wished that she had aborted me. He told me that my father had forgotten I existed and was glad to be in prison, away from me. He harped about how I would one day die alone, forgotten and unloved, in the same shithole apartments I grew up in and that it would be just like Cheryl. I’d choke on my own vomit and nobody would find me for days, the victim of a low and savage upbringing. And about Cheryl? Oh, he talked on and on about Cheryl, smiling and speaking in a melodious, almost sing-song pattern that was somehow still as flat as its words before.

“You hated her, did you not?”

I choked that I didn’t.

“No. You did. You were jealous. She was stealing him, yes? You are glad she is dead.”

Dead Coyote’s lips were a tight line, his muscles taut. It was as though he was frozen in time, though I know it was just the mention of Cheryl that choked him up. There was something furious in him, a fire I could almost feel. I was afraid, so fucking afraid, that he hated me because of everything that fucking deer was spewing out of its mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes and I sobbed, loudly, that I didn’t want Cheryl dead.

“No. No. You wish for something else. Tell me what it is… princess.”

He snapped. It had been a long time since I had seen Dead Coyote lose his absolute shit, but he exploded toward Furfur like he was launched out of a cannon, salt balled up in his fist like he was planning on punching a deer in the face. Furfur only tilted his head and chuckled, perfectly still even as Dead Coyote began to bark dispelling incantations at him and shovel handfuls of salt in his face.

When the salt-well ran dry, he pulled a folding knife out of his pants pocket and took it to his arm. I didn’t see what he carved. I found out much later on that he now has a nice, jagged, but rather impressive scar in the shape of a magic triangle hiding amongst his tattoos. It’s the one seal that can control Furfur, the one that can make him play nice and go home.

But I missed the excitement afterward, being curled into a ball on the grass and heaving sobs into my knees until I heard Dead Coyote stop screaming. I hardly even noticed the pain receding over Furfur’s voice still ringing in my head, only snapping out of my trance when I felt something thud to the ground next to me.

A deer skull, with half-finished carvings riddling the bone that were redone with smudged paint marker. Furfur’s crest was right smack in the middle of its forehead, in metallic silver. A smaller, almost insignificant Seal of Solomon was beneath it, perfectly centered and meticulously drawn. I sniffled as I cursed Miranda the RA for being too stupid to realize that placement and sizing in sigils were more important than aesthetics. You don’t make the demon more powerful than the controller, and you better use the right damn pentacle. No wonder her pet was running wild.

I think the most pain I ever suffered was still aching from Furfur’s aura and trekking back to the car, and I almost begged Dead Coyote to let me just sleep it off in the clearing. It was worth it to go back to campus--me hobbling in and clutching my everything while he strolled in behind me holding his trophy by the antlers--to watch as he walked straight to the RA’s office, found little Miranda sitting at the desk watching Youtube videos, and slammed the skull so hard into the ground that the bone splintered and shattered in a dozen different directions. Miranda screamed and jumped out of her seat.

Dead Coyote snarled.

“If you don’t know how to walk the left-hand path, stay on your own goddamn road. And if I ever hear you have tried to summon some bullshit again, or if you think about hexing my girl, I will throw out every single goddamn reservation I have about doing harm unto others. Do you understand?”

She didn’t call campus police, for whatever reason. Maybe because she knew she fucked up. Either way, when aspirin and Tylenol did nothing to make me stop jittering and groaning, I decided to skip my dorm for the night and head down to Dead Coyote’s camp site at the parking lot down the road. We sat up for hours upon hours, blazing through a secret stash of dashboard weed despite his insistence that I not touch the stuff. It was the only thing that made me stop hurting, though, and that was all he cared about in the end.

I apologized, again and again, bawling in a cloud of smoke about all of the things Furfur said, everything about Cheryl. He watched me, eyebrow raised, before handing me a napkin from the center console.

“Ah, princess. C’mon. It’s Furfur. He lies about everything if he ain’t sealed properly. I know you didn’t hate Cher. You cried as much as I did when she died.”

He took a drag off his joint.

“You were jealous, though.”

When the weed was gone and he’d given me one of his patented, stoned-out-of-his-mind, how-are-you-this-goddamn-wise-when-you-can’t-even-remember-your-phone-number pep talks, he dropped me back off at my dorm. Miranda was gone, the RA’s office empty, and the lobby deserted. When I got to the hall, only Cereal Girl remained, staring at my door with half a Twix sticking out of her mouth like a cigar. Our eyes met, but she didn’t have to say a word. She just smirked and laughed, crumbs splattering across the ground and, probably because I was high as fuck, I couldn’t help but laugh, too.

Taped to my door was another crest of Glasyalabolas.

Yet again, Miranda had drawn it wrong.