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atlaswav · 3 months

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ADDICTED TO THE RUSH ♢

INFO: 3k words, aiku oliver x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: strange things, a man did, when his knowledge of women was suddenly upturned by your very existence — the anomaly to his capricious heart, the addictive rush he'd been yearning for. WARNINGS: making out 16+ (shame.), hard drugs, hallucinogens, please don't do drugs kids, ESPECIALLY NOT FROM RANDOM STRANGERS LIKE OLIVER THIS BITCHASS, angst?? with happy ending. please be drug safe, not like this guy AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read and this is nothing except shame and delusion i'm ashamed and also simultaneously proud but i'll probably look back on this later and barf. listen to waiting for love by openside the title is inspired by that song. ++ if this is romanticising drugs in any way pls lmk idk what came over me. also likes and reblogs are really appreciated i'll give you a cookie 🫂

Contrary to what many would think, Oliver Aiku didn’t exactly consider himself one for parties. If anything, the thrumming bass that vibrated through the crowd, the alcohol stagnant in the air and the humidity of sweating bodies was an immediate line in the sand. He did have a reputation to keep, however, so what was one girl from the next when his name became a mantra on their lips?

Oliver wasn’t one for drinking, drugs or anything of the sort, either. Despite what his teammates may think, he would never have taken anything beyond a celebratory drink. Even though he’d been offered far worse on multiple occasions.

The professional soccer player couldn’t possibly risk any harm to his health, could he?

But he supposed, if he were to take the strangely glimmering, iridescent pill that was offered to him at the subway station in the dead of night, it’d be catastrophic. Strange things, a man did, when his heart was confused, brimming with reckless abandon.

What was another wound to his soul than what already was?

He’d ingest it against the voice of reason, and his head would start to spin after a few moments. Were there two of those men standing in front of him? The lights would begin to flicker in his vision, and the ground would rise up to meet his face unceremoniously, while he dreamed of a faraway paradise. A paradise filled with gaudy colours, rippling images, and infinite traces of you.

You, you you – your narcotic smell everywhere, your hypnotic laughter around each corner and bend, the hue of your irises flashing in the peripherals of his vision. He’d turn, aching to catch your evasive gaze, but you weren’t there.

Slipping through his fingers like water, fading into the effervescent shoreline. Trying to bottle sunlight – preserve seafoam.

He supposed that’s what loving you was like – would be like – not that he would know. It was an addiction in its own sense; chasing something that wasn’t there, yet yearned to hold.

He supposed that if he ingested that pill, and if all these things happened to him, then loving you was a drug.

He got unbelievably high from your presence, the rapid beating of his heart, your quiet smiles, shared furtive glances, secret whispers, your feather light touch skimming across his skin, your voice’s melodic cadences.

He’d give up anything to try again. To turn time on its head, watch the sand fall inversely through the hourglass and give rise to the words that were lodged in his throat. To stand his ground and not run away like the coward he became when it came to you. But of course, Oliver Aiku was not one for such things either.

And he hated himself for it.

The lights above shone a myriad of colours into his bleary gaze, the ground beneath him rumbling. What was that screeching noise?

It hurt his ears. He wanted to curl into a ball to escape it, but his limbs betrayed him.

His annoyance only spiked as people started to pour onto the platform, the ground shaking with footsteps and indistinct voices.

He told himself that he should move, but the iridescent lights above him were swirling into shapes, and he wanted to watch the bubbles float towards him, shining incandescently.

Wait. Bubbles?

“Oliver? Oh my god.”

He stirred, temples throbbing. Your voice started to haunt him too, it seemed. Lilting, soothing, lovely. He wished you’d speak again. He needed you to say his name again. It sounded like honey when it fell from your lips.

“Oh my god, Oliver, wake up.”

He mumbled something, faintly aware of a face in front of him. Your face. Beautiful, but marked with worry. He willed himself to reach out, to hold your cheek, to brush your hair away from your face, but he couldn’t.

“He’s off. On a trip to another universe. What did that guy give him?” another voice, this one less lovely. A dissonant cadence that had him remembering training. He hated training. Only because his team mates wouldn’t stop pestering him about you, once they’d finally found out about you.

“Hang in there, Oliver. We’ll get you home.”

Home? To him, home was wherever you were. He was entirely content to fall asleep in your arms, on the grimy platform floor.

Arms tried to lift him, but the six foot man was liquid in their arms.

“C’mon, can you move?” his teammate asked. “What did that guy even give you?”

He grumbled something. Tried to get his legs to move. Stumbled backwards, hitting his back on a wall.

“He said “a ticket to heaven for a night”, whatever that means.” You supply.

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Sendo, let’s just carry him. It isn’t too far anyway.” you huffed, looping one of his arms around you. He tried to cling to you with both arms, but his limbs flailed uselessly by his sides.

“Alright, fine. You’re buying me a drink after this, Aiku.” His teammate’s voice irked him, even in this state of bliss.

The walk back to his apartment took far longer than it should’ve. It was quiet, occasionally broken by the heaving of breaths, clouding in the winter air. Wisps of colour followed them out of the subway station. Was that a whale swimming towards them? No, that was just the light. The stupid, colourful light.

He creaked open his eyes, and the world started to swirl in his vision. Were they standing at his elevator? Is that why the wind had stopped blowing into his face? He leaned into your warmth, cheeks red from the cold.

“You can go now, I got him from here.”

“You sure?” His balance slips as Sendo removes himself from Oliver’s grip.

“Yeah. ‘Night, Sendo.”

“Yeah, yeah, message me if something happens. Goodnight.”

You stand there in silence with him, waiting for the elevator to arrive. His face presses into the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin as he mumbles something.

“Oliver, what did you do?” you sigh.

He frowns.

“You okay?”

He huffs.

“Silent treatment, or high out of your mind?”

He doesn’t respond. Spots start to appear all over the place. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Waves of dizziness wash over him, and his grip on your arm tightens.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” you haul him into the elevator, leaning against the wall as the ascent starts. Oliver wobbles dangerously, threatening to collapse as his knees start to give out.

“Why did you do this?” you mutter. “Is it because of what I said?”

His eyes snap open. As close to snapping open as his traitorous body would allow in this state of his. Your eyes meet his, and he feels himself wanting to drown in your gaze forever. His mind was just as traitorous as his body.

No, he wants to say. It could never be your fault.

But he doesn’t. His tongue is lead in his mouth, so he just looks at you in a stupor before you sigh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to reciprocate anything. We can still be friends.”

Your confession only hours before had felt like a weight finally lifted from your chest, quickly replaced by another. Heavier, more suffocating. When he’d run from you, it took everything within you to not run after him and beg.

He hated anything remotely permanent, he’d once confided to you. He found an appreciation for the fleeting moments of affection of one night stands and miscellaneous, faceless, nameless women – no strings attached, tying him down. Heaven forbid you become the object of his hatred, along with the object of his – disgust? You couldn’t tell, with Oliver. There was never any telling what he’d do.

You drew the keys from his pocket, unlocking his front door as he stumbled forward, nearly face planting on the floors.

“Come on, you big baby.”

“...Stars.”

“What?”

“Stars on the… ceiling.” me mumbled, eyes half closed.

Worry rushed through you as you seated him on the couch. Just how strong was the drug he took?

“What did you take?” you grasp his shoulders, shaking him lightly. He mumbles something close to ‘Don’t worry’. If anything, you begin to worry more as his head falls to one side.

“Oliver.” Your voice is a song in his ears, drawing up images of the waves at sunrise, bleeding orange, pink and purple into the deep blue of the water.

“Oliver, stay with me.”

“‘M fine.” he manages. “Dizzy.”

“Let me get you some water.” your presence – the warmth of your touch – disappears, and his eyes open in alarm.

He hears the sound of water being poured, then soft footsteps shuffling around. His apartment is dark, the only light drifting in from the balcony, illuminating the room with a pale glow.

“Here, drink.” you lift the glass to his lips, and he begrudgingly takes a couple of sips. Some water spills from the corner of his lips, down his neck. His Adam's apple bobs. His trembling hand comes up weakly to lower the glass, but he doesn’t release his grip as he meets your eyes. Pupils blown out, hardly on this plane of existence.

“I love you.”

You nearly drop the glass.

“You’re high. Say that to me when you’re sober.” you pry free from his grip, setting the glass onto the low coffee table in front of you. “Want to go to bed?”

He shakes his head, the movement apparently as much as he can muster. “Here.”

“Huh?”

“Here. With you.” he mumbles.

“What?”

Then you take a seat next to him, and his head falls onto your shoulder. His body seems to relax in your presence, wholly at peace.

You sigh. If “heaven for one night” meant anything, he’d be fine by morning, but you debated calling an ambulance anyway. Should you call the ambulance? Was that crook at the subway trustworthy? You glance at the peacefully sleeping man beside you, chest evenly rising and falling. He seemed fine, but he had taken drugs from a stranger.

You reach for your phone just as he grumbles, flopping his entire upper body onto your lap.

Okay, no, then.

Oliver’s soft snoring is almost endearing as he nuzzles his face into your thighs. You heave a sigh, running a hand through his neon green edged hair. He seemed to lean into the touch. No, it was your imagination. You lean back against the leather sofa and close your eyes, hoping for the night to pass sooner. Hoping that he’d sober up by morning, and spare you a trip to the emergency room.

Hoping to hear those three words in the lustre of clarity.

—

His dreams were filled with phantoms; phantom hands, faces, touches. Phantom words spoken into the air, disappearing in smoke, and only spurring his guilt. Yet as he woke from his stupor, the world smelled like you. Coaxing him back to the dreamscape. Exhaustion hit him like a tsunami, meeting him with a thundering headache.

His vision didn’t fare any better as he opened his eyes, the world a mess of swirls and blurring patterns. He groaned and flipped over, only to realise where he was.

The disorientation of sleep melted away as he finally came to his senses. Sweat, thinly beaded across his skin, his clothes clinging to his body. He lay curled up on the couch, head nuzzled into the pillows – warm, soft –

“Oliver? You awake?”

He snaps to attention, sitting up the moment he hears your voice.

The plight of his dreams, the palliative cadences that he wished he could despair in.

His head throbbed from the blood rushing to his head, and he swore quietly, swaying as he adjusted.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” your eyes are wide with concern, and something in his heart tugs.

The night before is an empty slot in his reel of memory, a smudge of bright, neon lights and dancing shapes as he attempts to recall exactly what happened. How he ended up sleeping on your lap, how you’d ended up at his apartment. Did you sleep over? It looks like you didn’t sleep at all, with the dark circles under your red rimmed eyes.

You abruptly get off the couch, heading into his kitchen. He hears the pouring of water, then you return, gingerly handing him the glass. He takes it, confusion slowly turning to realisation as he remembers.

And the memory of his cowardliness, his recklessness, his awful string of decisions that led him to seeing stars rushes through him like ice cold water.

“You okay?” you ask, voice soft. Treading on eggshells.

He nods, downing the glass of water.

Quiet, strung on a humming wire, envelops you as he attempts to find the words that kept escaping him. The words that he swore he’d never speak, even though you were right in front of him, still worried. Despite it all. You’d stayed, despite everything.

Would he have been a coward for pushing you away? Sparing you from the inevitable heartbreak that he’d dole out like his meaningless plethora of apologies, incapable of anything prolonged more than one night?

“Oliver,” his gaze snaps to you. His name was like ambrosia on your lips. He wanted to hear it spoken again and again, a prayer, a worship, a plea.

“Did we…” he trails off, sheepish. Oliver Aiku, bashful of his escapades.

Your cheeks redden slightly as you shake your head, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Silence, the capricious thing. Teetering on the edge of ruin, speared into disrepair with words that could shatter or mend your heart. Your heart, aching to be given away. Aching for the one that you couldn’t have.

Your name echoes through his empty house. The early morning sunlight peers through the windows, casting warm light on your face. Rejuvenating, almost divine.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart drops.

“I don’t know how to–” he rubs his face with his hand, heterochromic eyes gazing at some point beyond. “I’ve never had a way with words.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” your bitter smile breaks his heart. Digs the blade in and twists, spilling burning acid into his veins.

He can feel his world crumbling around him as you stand, turning around. Heading for the door, for the threshold beyond that would mean you were finally gone. Finally out of his life, finally gone from the dreams that you haunted, from the touch that he craved.

He should be glad, but instead, like an addicted man, he reaches out, grabbing your arm.

“Wait,”

You turn to face him. Hope glimmers in your eyes and he can only feel guilty. His love wasn’t something that he could offer, his heart wasn’t one that could stay with yours for as long as he would wish, and it was another thing that he despised himself for.

He despised himself for not being able to love you the way you should be.

If only he could put it into words.

“You don’t need to comfort me.”

He sighs. “I’m not trying to comfort you, I just…”

You frown, stepping closer. “Then what, Oliver?”

If only you knew the effect you had. “I don’t have a way with words,” he starts. “But I’ve always believed that actions can speak louder.”

“What are you–”

Your words drown in his mouth as he pulls your mouth down to meet his. He drowns your gasp of shock, offers reassurance with the measured brush of his tongue on your lips. If Oliver had anything to show from his reputation as a womaniser, it was knowing how to treat a woman.

The kiss burns with a fervour that you can only describe as hunger. He kisses like he’s been starved, addicted to your taste, your touch, shivering as your hands wander into his hair. His breath catches in his throat as your nails scrape his scalp, muffling a groan as you bite his lip.

You pull away all too quickly for his liking. His starvation is in his eyes. Your breaths are quick, ragged, and he tries to kiss you again, but you press your index finger to his lips.

“Are you still high?” you ask, voice carrying that hint of joy that he wanted to illuminate.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

A smile breaks out on your face as he sighs heavily, catching your wrist in his hand. “I might be, but I can think straight.”

A laugh from you, and he thinks he’s doomed. Fated to be wrapped around your finger for the remainder of his sorry life, a jester for your amusement. How quickly the tables have turned on him.

“We’ll see, Aiku.” you press a kiss to his forehead, smile luminescent in the dawn sun. Despite the sleepless night, watching over him in his state of oblivion, you were radiant. The object of his secret desires, the hubris to his mercurial heart.

“Wait, what?” As you turn to leave, he scrambles up from the couch, but his limbs won’t let him catch you. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” you cast him a coy smile. “If your actions speak true, come find me when you’re sober.”

Then the door opens and closes, before he can retort. Gone with the wind, scattered like seafoam on the shores of golden sand.

He falls back onto the couch with a huff, the ceiling still swimming slightly in his vision. Never again, he’d take any drug from any sketchy man in a subway station. He didn’t need drugs, alcohol or women anymore, he could discard his reputation completely. He didn’t need such things anymore – not when he had you.

You, you you, with your haunting presence, eluding his grasp like sunlight in a jar. He’d normally relent, turning to the next woman fawning over him, sweep her off her feet with his aloofness and casanova grin.

But now he had you, and the chase was a thrill that no drug could replicate.

You were his dopamine, he was hopelessly addicted.

written by @atlaswav, published 4th of February, 2024

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ardienothesieno · 9 months

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Getting back into the swing of Artfight after procrastinating for a week with the TRIPLE OCEAN ITERATOR FACE-OFF

Featuring: - Sparkling Sea, belongs to @1ndieblue - Glimmering Seafoam in Sunlight, belongs to @mewguca - Glittering Oceans, belonging to me!

#rain world #rain world downpour #rw iterator #iterator #iterator oc #my art #oc #glittering oceans

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argonwrites · 11 months

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Scenes from Brindleton Bay

Back in 2021 I became immensely attached to a family I created in Sims 4 to the point where I made an entire storyline for them. This was fun to write! Inspiration truly comes from the unlikeliest of places. This is the second part of a five-part series. The other parts have not yet been written because I never finish my WIPs. The backstories of the characters (and the context of this piece) are not included here.

Word count: 985

Sleet waves lap at the shores underneath pale gunmetal skies, leaving seafoam upon the sand. Sunrise was one or two hours ago, though Samuel could not see the sun behind the clouds nor feel its warmth. He steers clear of the water, unwilling to wet his shoes in the cold ocean, and watches as Lady sniffs at a mound of sand. The small spaniel digs, her paws crusted with wet sand and snow, before ambling over to where the teen stands.

Winters at Brindleton Bay are unforgiving, and Samuel maximizes his time outside before the biting wind stings underneath his many layers of clothes, before the squalls arrive to reduce the world outside to a hazy white shapelessness. Samuel leans down to pat Lady on her head, and smiles as her tail wags with every stroke. The spaniel breaks away from his touch, eventually, and resumes her exploration of the beach.

Samuel sighs. The beach is a bare expanse: absent are the morning joggers, the children playing by the water. A lone gull cries, a shrill sound against the static of waves crashing upon the shore. The teen looks up to find nothing but empty skies, and frowns as something hollow settles in his chest.

Lady barks, somewhere in the distance, and Samuel walks over to her. Thoughts brew in his mind, unwanted and unbidden, and he wills them away.

His morning walks with Lady started in the summer, when the skies were brighter and the weather hotter. Valerie thought it would do him good to leave the house from time to time, and it did, whenever he felt the Griffith residence was too large and too lonely in the twilight before dawn. The teen would have Lady on a leash, lead her through the kitchen and out the back door, and the two would jog down the boardwalk to the beach.

Lady does not have her leash now, and the vibrancy of the past summer is little more than a warm memory.

He has some time before breakfast, Samuel notes as he checks his watch. He remembers Valerie mumbling about spinach frittata the evening before, and his stomach growls at the thought. He does not look forward to meals often, but Tristan looks at him with less hatred in his eyes nowadays, and the atmosphere at the dining table has become more bearable. The other boy rarely speaks to him directly, answering him only when necessary, but Samuel prefers the silence to his glares.

A sudden pressure at his calves: Lady sits against him, tail brushing sand and snow with every wag. Samuel bends down to brush sand off her fur, and presses the tip of his finger against her wet nose. Slivers of sunlight peek behind heavy clouds, landing on something which glimmers just beyond the reach of the waves. Lady stands up as Samuel approaches it, her head tilted to one side as he plucks it from the sand.

The bottle in his hands is no larger than a soda bottle, its glass cloudy from the seawater. A piece of cork wedged in its mouth has kept its contents dry. Samuel spies a piece of parchment inside, neatly rolled and tied with a length of string, and pops off the cork. With a slight tip the parchment slides out into his hand, and Samuel tucks the bottle under his arm as he unscrolls it.

There are no words scribbled upon the parchment, no letter for some distant friend or lover: there is only a crudely drawn sketch on the yellowing paper, and laughter rings on the beach as Samuel recognizes what it is. Lady watches him clutch at his stomach, one hand gripping the piece of paper still as he laughs harder than he has in the previous months.

“Sam!”

Silence descends, suddenly, upon the snowy shore: Samuel turns his head at the call of his name to see Tristan on the boardwalk, bundled up in a thick coat and his hands resting deep in its pockets. He looks displeased, Samuel thinks, whether at the cold or at the prospect of having to interact with him, and the thought of the latter steals the laughter in his lungs and the small pleasure from before.

“Tristan?” Samuel says, walking towards him. Lady follows at his heels.

“Hey. Mom says it’s time for breakfast.” Tristan shivers, and bends down to pick up the spaniel. The three of them begin the short walk home. “It’s cold as hell out here. What’s that you’re holding?”

“Something I found on the beach.” Samuel holds up the bottle and the piece of paper.

“Message in a bottle? You don’t see those very often.”

“Not quite a message,” Samuel says. His eyes flit between Tristan and the paper, before angling it to show the other boy. “It’s…”

“A dick,” Tristan says. A small chuckle leaves him. “Is that why you spend so much time on the beach? You do know you can find them online, right?”

Samuel opens his mouth to answer, but Tristan continues before he can respond. “That was a joke,” he says and, in a quieter voice, “Mom says I should be nicer to you.”

“It’s fine, Tristan,” Samuel says. There is nothing else he could say, not now, not like this.

“Tris.” Tristan looks away. The planks of the boardwalk creak underneath them with each step. “Call me Tris. Like, y’know, when you used to when we were still friends.”

“Alright, Tris,” Samuel says. It has been years since he last called the other boy by his nickname, and the way it rolls on his tongue is both alien and familiar. “Tris.”

“Don’t wear it out, man.” Tristan shoots him a lopsided smile, and opens the back door for him. The two boys enter the house, grateful for the warmth and the breakfast on the table, and leave behind the chill of the world outside.

#argonwrites #sims 4

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dustednotepad · 2 years

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cliff diving

A woman stands on the edge of a cliff. The sky stretches far overhead, clear blue with gentle puffy clouds. A wind whips upward, rustling through her hair and clothes. It smells of salt. The ocean stretches far below. Shades of green-cerculean-cobalt-sapphire dance across the gentle waves, glittering bright white sunlight and crashing seafoam against the rocks at the base of the cliff. The woman breathes in deeply (sea-salt-fresh-air-freedom), feels the long wild grass sway gently against her calves, presses her bare feet into the soil. She opens her arms, stretching them out to the side and above her head, pressing her chest forward and tilting her head backwards. She feels the sun and wind on her face, breathes in deeply once again, and leans forward. She's falling, face forward and fearless. Somehow, she's turned over, eyes looking up at the sky and limbs loose, relaxed, pointed towards the sky only by force of her plummet. The crash through the water isn't violent, doesn't make a big splash. Her eyes had closed before the impact, and she now is about twenty feet below the surface, still in the same position as the fall, body arched in a gentle "c", hands and feet reaching away from gravity's pull. She breathes out gently, a thin trail of bubbles rising towards the waves. Sunlight glimmers through the waves around her, and thirty feet below, seagrass sways in the currents. Little fish swim gracefully here and there, but none approach her, merely swimming around as though she's always been there. Her mouth opens now. She breathes in deeply, feels the water rush into her lungs like a breath of clean cold air. It flows into her lungs, seems to fill her veins and the pores in her bones. She does not drown. Her eyes are open now. They dance with the water-rippled sunlight, and they smile, though she does not. Her face is calm. She is home.

#story #stories #writing #windows notepad #cliff diving #ocean #writeblr

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undead-merman · 3 years

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Oh! Oh! Siren Simeon! Please?

I got your follow-up on wanting to make it yandere headcanons. Thank you for the clarification✌

🧜‍♂️Siren Simeon🧜‍♂️ as a yandere GN- reader SFW

Appearance

Out of the water he looks so unearthly and beautiful. His skin is so smooth and soft looking, not a mark or blemish on his whole body. You’d have to rub your eyes to see if he’s actually glowing or not.

His scales are a blinding hombre of deep sea blue, seafoam, and pale blue and they shimmer brightly in the sunlight, they even have a slight iridescent quality to them. His tail is a half moon shape with two longer spines with a soft appearance making them flow in the water like a flag in the wind. His tail is much longer than his body allowing him to swim faster and is littered with small fins just like his caudal fin.

But when he’s excited or he’s gotten his prey his glamor shifts away revealing his true appearance. His serene look is completely gone. His teeth become razor sharp like a shark’s and his hands grow torn webbing and long claws.

Small thorn-like protrusions come from his elbow and go to his wrists as well as down the sides of his tail making it easy to cut and slice up his prey.

His tail colors melt away and become a slate blue. Those slate blue scales now run from his webbed hands up to his shoulders and gather around his mouth and eyes.

Deadly songs and the Dark Depths

Despite his teeth, claws, and thorns his voice is his deadliest weapon. His lullaby which he thought of as he grew older can hypnotize weak willed people into doing whatever he wishes. He can sing this melody and his target will bend to whatever whim he commands of them. Throw themselves off a cliff, kill their crewmates, walk into the ocean and drown themselves. Though unlike his brothers and sisters he prefers a less painful method of taking their hands and drowning them as they stare blankly into his eyes as the air bubbles disappear from their mouth and nose.

He lives in an underwater cave far below the surface, it hangs in a slope overlooking an openscape that overlooks the transition to the midnight zone of the depths just as the light starts to dim and the longer you look into it the darker it becomes. His home is along a mesophotic coral reef filled with biolument creatures yet to be spoiled or discovered.

Sometimes he sings to the abyss below in hopes something will respond, sometimes something does but it’s never what he wants. Someone he can spend his life with, a partner. He knows it’s strange that he wants company but he just can’t help but crave conversation and companionship.

Sometimes he wishes that someone would be special, someone that would thrill him every time he looked at them. But none of them do, they all stare at him with empty and powerless eyes.

Spending Time with You

His whole entire world changed when he met you. You were able to withstand his song. You even whistled it back to him. It set his heart aflame and burned a passion in him he didn’t even know possible. He needed to see you. Needed to meet you. Needed to keep you with him so nothing like his kind could find you and take you away from him.

He’ll find ways to try and stay with you. He’ll keep up his glamor so he won’t scare you away, so you’ll adore him and keep coming to him. He’ll study magic, he’ll try to convince you to take him with you. He’ll do anything.

If you ever happened to find out about his true form he’ll be ashamed but desperately hope it doesn’t drive you away. He couldn’t take that. But if you don't mind it or get used to it he’ll love you so much that he’ll never let you go. He’ll try to cling on you for as long as he can.

He loves to play with your toes, he thinks they're the cutest thing about you. Such small little appendages. He traces the muscles from your toes and trails his fingers up your legs.

He also adores your eyelashes. Such tiny fluffy little things. He has none of his own so just seeing them move as you blink. He could just watch them for hours.

Dark Tendencies

He’s not going to let you go no matter what. Eventually he’ll get fed up with you having to leave him. He can’t let anyone else find you, he can’t let that flame you burn in him out of his grasp. Once he makes up his mind he’ll drag you to a cave with some air and force you to stay there.

He’ll be upset if you panic and try to run, though luckily he picks a cave that there's no way you could get out. He’ll just watch you and give you space until you clear your mind. He’ll bring some gifts to help try and calm you down. If you don’t panic he treats you like a frail thing, he tries to do everything for you since he doesn’t want you to get hurt.

If any other siren dares to try and come near you he suddenly turns. All smiles are gone and he will bite, claw, and ram against them with his thorns. He doesn’t take any chances with your safety and other sirens are the biggest threat to that. After he drives them off he’ll make sure to wash off and swim up to you asking for praise with a toothy smile.

Misc Stuff

His scales shed a lot since his kind gets into a lot of rough fights. So he likes to make jewelry out of them when he finds the materials. And he gives you some of his best pieces. It makes him extremely happy to see you wear them too.

Human hair is really nice to him, so soft unlike his coarse hair. If you let him, he'll make jewelry out of your hair for him to wear as well so you both can have little trinkets of each other.

Siren’s tend to collect prizes from their prey if they have them. The more intricate looking the better. But if they don’t have anything like that they just keep the skull. Simeon has a vast collection of skulls and trinkets but his favorite is a jeweled badge, despite its age it still glimmers even in the dimmest light.

#obey me #obey me simeon #obey me monster headcanons #simeon x reader #yandere simeon

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megarywrites · 4 years

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wip intro ↠ Seafoam

genre: fantasy | pov: single, first person | status: second draft | theme: grief, overcoming misogyny, revenge

summary: Thala Galanis, now a daughter of the sea, seeks revenge on those who stole the shore from her.

excerpt: Blood really is the most beautiful shade of red, isn’t it?

The metallic tang of it lingered in the air and on my tongue. I raised my hand to the dying sun, inspecting the carmine stain covering my fingers and dripping down my arm. It billowed in the sea around me, bright and sanguine and breathtaking. I was practically bathing in it.

Sunlight glimmered off of my hand, the blood glistening in the last vestiges of day, and for the first time in a long time, I smiled.

Really, truly smiled.

#writeblr #wip intro #wip introduction #wwaystation #writerswaystation #wip: seafoam #aes: seafoam #mine #my writing #(sorta)#i love how this turned out alsdkfjaldsj #seafoam: excerpt

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wayfaringseamstress · 3 years

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There's a very popular phrase in creative writing called "kill your darlings". Essentially, it means sometimes you have to get rid of an unnecessary piece of the story, even though you worked extremely hard on it and love it very much, for the overall benefit of the total story.

And so that brings us to Ariel. I loved, loved, loved my initial design for Ariel. But as I continued designing the rest of the princesses, it became clear that she was the odd one out, the only one wearing a peasant dress compared to the frilly, fancy 'princess' dresses. So a redesign was needed, and honestly, that's okay, because I love this design too. It's based on the dress she wears for actually the shortest amount of time in the film, in her final transformation from mermaid to human.

It reminds me of seafoam, like the mermaid in the original fairy tale would have been doomed to turn into upon death. It reminds me of, to quote the Broadway musical number Her Voice "A girl who's like the who's like the glimmer of the sunlight on the sea".

It's a good change, even if I was one I wasn't happy about having to make at first. But that's just part of being a designer.

#the little mermaid #tlm #ariel #disney #disney princess #disney animation #disney coslay #disney redesign #costume design #cosplay #costume #sewing #seamstress #seamstress life #mermaid #seafoam #ocean #her voice

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queenmuzz · 4 years

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Siren’s Song

If his father found out where Nero had gone, all alone, he’d drag the finling’s tail back and lock him somewhere in the depths of the ocean. His dad, (and mom, to a lesser extent) tried their best to keep him from the danger of humans, but by the Dawnfather, he was almost thirteen migrations old, and finlings his age were allowed to go where they wanted, within reason. Besides , he thought as he flexed his fist, his soul weapon had fully materialized, he could defend himself from practically anything. Only two weeks ago, his entire right arm had changed into a beautiful scaly claw that glimmered silvery blue and red. His parents seemed relieved more that his newly developed weapon was permanently bonded with him, than the fact that he’d gotten one earlier than usual. It meant he didn’t ever have to worry about ever getting separated from it, a fate worse than death.

Even then, The only two reasons he had managed to get closer to the shoreline was that he was supposed to be with his uncle, who was supposed to be teaching him how to hunt with his new arm, but with the promise of picking up a human trinket for him, Dante had left him to his own devices, while his uncle went on a hunt for something called ‘pizza’. His uncle was weird.

Another reason Nero had gotten so close to the shoreline, was because his dad seemed to think this area, despite the human settlements, was safer than most areas. This island, this Fortuna…. It didn’t have the large fishing tankers other places did, only the easily dodgible small fishing boats. And unlike other sandy banks where the dry land met their home, there were few humans wearing those tiny strips of cloths that provided little protection. When they rarely showed up, they were covered head to their stubbly legs in clothing. And they almost never went into the water.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be careful. The legends spoke of how dangerous humans could be, especially when you encountered them on their own domain. The rules were simple:

Never let yourself be seen by them.

Never accept a gift from them.

And most importantly:

3. Never promise a human anything.

You can also read it on Ao3 HERE

Humans were a strange people, with inexplicable powers that were said to compel or even worse, bind Merfolk to them. How many tales had his father sang to him about foolish mermen and maids suffering captivity and death because they didn’t understand the danger they were courting by encountering humans?

Well , Nero thought, as he slowly got closer to the shoreline, the tide went out for them, but I’m different. Besides, he had his new weapon, he’d be perfectly fine. Already he had perfected his hunting using a manifestation of his claws to shoot out and either spear, or grab a fish, before yanking it back to be devoured. A group of Cordina swam a tail’s length away from him, and he effortlessly yanked one of them, and with pride, he began to take a bite of its belly. He wasn’t old enough to swallow them whole, but probably by his next migration, he should be…

Mid bite he heard it. A beautiful sound that reminded him of the haunting choral singing of the whales of the North. Except this was higher pitched, came from only one throat instead of many, and strangely enough… it sounded like it came from above the surface?

Resisting the urge to give in to curiosity and break the surface, he compromised by slowly following the entrancing song from beneath the waves. It couldn’t be far, sounds in the air didn’t carry as far as they did in water, and sure enough, within a few strokes of his fins, he found the source, a lone wooden dock jutting out over the water.

Or rather, WHO was on it.

Nero had been told by his father that singing was something only Merfolk and the warm blooded fish of the sea could do. If humans could sing, he explained, they would have to stand right next to each other in order to hear, and their songs couldn’t possibly convey the depths that his people’s songs could.

And yet, this human… this… girl… (She seemed about his age, and his mom had explained that human children had different names for gender) sang so sweetly, it almost felt like she was luring him in with magic.

But it couldn’t be magic, since he still had the wits to remain hidden, to check for danger, before settling underneath the creaking wood of the dock. Even so, her voice was so beautiful, he risked silently breaching the surface to hear her more clearly.

He didn’t know why she was singing. She was apparently alone, so she wasn’t telling a tale, and she was far too young to be singing for a mate. Tidemother have mercy, he couldn’t even understand the words. Something about ‘darkness’ ‘wind’ and… a ‘garden’? That was a strange word. Maybe his uncle or mother would know.

But in the end, it didn’t matter as he listened, his claws embedded into the slippery post to stabilize him. Whatever she was singing, it was beautiful.

And, as he risked a peek through the planks, she was as beautiful as the song she sang. Her clothing was whiter than seafoam, brighter than the icebergs that floated from the south, with lines of what seemed to be glittering sunlight etched into it. But that wasn’t the most stunning thing. Her hair was a vibrant shade between coral red and earth brown, a colour he’d never seen in all of his travels. And her eyes! For a moment, he thought they were seaweed green, but then they flashed into dark sand brown, so rapidly, he wasn’t even sure they were different colours, or just a melding of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. His father had told him most humans were brutes with harsh voices, but he hadn’t said all of them were. Maybe his dad was wrong, that humans weren’t the monsters the tales said they were. Or maybe, this one human was an exception, a pearl in an oyster.

She slowly stopped her singing and with a beautiful smile, she pushed her hair back to form it into a tail of some sort, revealing her creamy skin with reddish speckles (did humans have scales? He’d have to ask his mom about that, she was really knowledgeable about that stuff) and sighed happily while basking in the son.

“Oh!” She yelled out, and Nero froze. Had she seen him, or somehow sensed him? He clung to the post, quickly calculating paths of escape.

Instead, he heard a tinkle, a Thud! and a Plop!, as something hit the dock, before slipping through the crack between planks and fell into the water, to sink straight to the bottom. He could only get a small glimpse as it plummeted down, but it sparkled, like a falling star.

“Nononono!” the girl yelped, and above him, he heard her scrambling, and her head popped down over the side, obviously trying to locate that glittering trinket.

Nero was totally not terrified. Not at all. Sure, this was the closest he’d ever been to a human, and he stilled his breath, she was so close she could probably hear his heart pounding. All she had to do is look in his general direction, and he’d be spotted. It was only her intense gaze to the sea bed below that saved him. He couldn’t even flee, because any movement he made would undoubtedly attract her attention. So, he clung to the post, silently praying for both the Dawnfather and Tidemother to protect him.

The only upside to his situation was that he had an even closer look at the girl. She was so pretty, and hadn’t been for the fact she had legs, she could have been indistinguishable from one of his people. But even so, there was an expression on her face that hurt him deeply, a deep sorrow. Whatever had fallen into the water, it had been very precious to her.

“KYRIE!” A voice called out from the shore, and the girl's attention swung over to the source, allowing Nero a moment of reprieve, “I told you not to get your dress dirty! The ceremony is happening very soon!”

Rapid footsteps clattered as an older woman, who bore a resemblance to the girl strode up. “I’ve been looking all over for you, have you been here all this time?”

“I-I-wanted to practice my singing here, mama.” “You know you don’t always have to come here alone dear, everyone loves your singing!” “Yeah,” she didn’t sound convinced. Did she think her singing was bad? Nero scoffed at the idea.

“Well, it’s time for your performance,” the older woman wiped off traces of dirt off her daughter’s dress, before gasping, “Where’s your new necklace!?”

“It… fell off my neck,” the girl admitted, hanging her head, “the clasp unlocked and it fell…” she glanced down to the water below.

“Oh Kyrie....” the woman was disappointed, yet not angry. “Your papa and I just got that for you...you need to be more careful with your possessions.” She glanced over the edge of the dock, and Nero had yet another flash of panic. Thankfully, she didn’t spend much time scanning the water. “Ah well, there’s no time to retrieve it. Your father and Credo will have to look for it tomorrow morning, it shouldn’t go far. Now,” she patted her daughter’s head, “let’s be on our way, your singing will delight everyone!”

Nero didn’t move for what seemed like an eternity, even when the two humans were gone, in the small chance that this was a feint, a trap. Because that glittering fallen star, that...necklace that glittered in the sand, like an anglerfish’s lure. But, there were no signs of any other humans laying in wait for him, so cautiously, he made his way towards the sparkly item. Despite it shining like the Dawnfather, it wasn’t hot, in fact it was cool to the touch. But it glimmered and sparkled like his father’s amulet, it even had a little red gem in the middle. But the lady was wrong, the way the water moved around here, it would be washed away by tomorrow, or buried by the shifting sands. Nero had a conundrum: He could either let it get washed away, lost to the sands of time....

Or he could grab it. But it belonged to the girl, and the rules about accepting gifts from humans...what if it put a terrible curse on him?

But , he reasoned, it’s not really a gift. He was merely retrieving it, and he’d give it right back to her… maybe he’d put it on the dock.

His fingers caressed the shiny metal, as reflective as his father’s blade. No, he couldn’t just leave it here, some bird, or some other human would pick it up for themselves. Nero couldn’t have that. He’d just have to hold onto it until he saw her again at the docks. She apparently hung out here to sing. Yeah, he’d find her, figure out a way to leave it nearby, and hope she noticed it without noticing him. Simple plan, really.

The necklace glistened once more in the sunlight, before suddenly with a golden flash, disappeared into his scaly claws. So his soul weapon could do that too... interesting. At least his uncle (and dad) wouldn’t be on his tailfins about the trinket he had. It would be hard to explain how he had gotten a hold of something like this.

“Heya guppy!” his uncle met him a good distance from the shore, ruffling his hair, “you got anything cool?”

Nero pretended to be annoyed, “Nah, sorry. But,” he scratched the bridge of his nose, “can we come back tomorrow? I think I heard some of the humans talking about a ‘pizza party’ on the beach tomorrow? Maybe we could…”

His uncle’s grin widened, “Oh yeah! We can do that! I knew you’d pull through!”

Nero almost felt bad for lying...almost. But his dad would never let him get so close to the shore unaccompanied, and his uncle was the only one who trusted him to go by himself. He'd just give it to her tomorrow. Besides, how hard could it be?

It was much harder than Nero had thought. Finding Kyrie was incredibly simple, she had a very set schedule, spending hours in the morning just singing, or ‘practicing her scales’ as she put it, her voice ascending and descending like the waves. And he’d hide under the dock to listen, entranced by everything. He almost was tempted to sing along to the songs she sang, if it wasn’t for the fact he’d be caught for sure. Sometimes, her parents would come to call her home, or her older brother, but usually it was just her...and him.

But every time he felt he should give back the necklace, he felt… he couldn’t. And it wasn’t magic, he was certain of it by now. Honestly, the more he observed her, and the others, the more he was certain that humans couldn’t EVEN do magic. They were just a slower, weaker, more clumsy version of merfolk, who couldn’t even breathe underwater.

But Kyrie… there was something about her. Nero wanted to be near her at all times, and holding onto that necklace seemed to be the only way he could do that. So, every time when she was called home, he’d promise himself that tomorrow would be the day he’d give it back.

Unfortunately, that day never came. “Wait, what do you mean we have to go?” Nero tried to stop his father from swimming off. He still had plans for the day.

“It’s time, the shoal is on the move to the north,” his father gruffly said, “we’ve wasted enough time on whatever you and your uncle have been up to, if we wait any longer, we’ll spend far too much time chasing instead of hunting. Tell your mother we must be on our way.”

“But…” Nero still hadn’t given back the necklace. And now, he might never get another chance to.

His father’s furrowed brow softened as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Nero,” he spoke softly with misplaced understanding, “I know you’ve enjoyed your new found freedom in this area, it’s why I have put off the migration for as long as possible, I wanted to see my son happy and free in a safe area. But,” the sternness returned, “the Ways must be followed, we must move on. You understand that, right?”

He was right of course, already the Cordina shoals were slim, and Nero was lucky if he found one on his own per day, and he didn’t relish the thought of eating kelp as a replacement. (A trait apparently passed down from his father, who detested the stuff) But still…

“Do not worry” his father patted his head softly, “We will return. We always do.”

It was an attempt to reassure him, in his father’s awkward way, but still...Nero hoped that she would keep to her pattern as he did his. He’d have to get it to her next time on their migration. It would be easy.

It wasn’t easy. Eager as he was to see her again the next time they followed the shoal to the balmy shallows of Fortuna, he still couldn’t give up the necklace. She still stood at the end of the dock at the same time each day, singing not only the same songs as before, but more complex ones as well. She’d gotten taller, and dare he say it, even more beautiful. But still, even with multiple opportunities, he couldn’t part with it. It was like keeping a piece of her with him, and when he took it out of his clawed arm, just the caressing of it calmed him down when he failed miserably at hunting, or when he had an argument with his parents about how independent he was allowed to be. And so, by the time they had to move on, he still carried it. There was always the next migration....

He told himself that after the first one, then the second, then the third…

They were approaching Fortuna for the fourth time since he had first met (no...that was the wrong word, but how else could he describe it without sounding like he was hunting her?) and after a particularly aggravating hunt where his uncle constantly ribbed him about ‘If you’re that bad at hunting, maybe you should stick to kelp, guppy’ , Nero had found a secluded shelter to calm down. He was a krill’s whisker away from punching that smirk off his uncle’s face, and the last thing he wanted to happen is to give his father a reason to restrict his movements, especially as they approached the island. He rolled his shoulder, and out came the necklace, pristine as the day it fell into the water. He smiled gently as his fingers traced the shape, like bird wings, that enclosed the brilliant gem. If he closed his eyes, he could swear he heard her voice. Perhaps she has another new song?

“Ah, there you are!” His mother’s voice snuck up on him, giving him no time to hide the necklace without looking suspicious. “When Dante said you stormed out of the hunting party at the speed of a sailfish, I was a little worried you’d get yourself in trouble.” She drifted down towards him, a makeshift satchel made of salvaged cloth from the surface world at her side. No doubt it was full of shellfish, her favourite food. She wasn’t as quick at hunting as his father, his uncle, or to be honest, any of the other merfolk, and Nero always worried that she had been injured early on in her life, something that put her at a disadvantage. But she was always cheerful, and found other ways to contribute to the hunt.

“It’s just…”

“Dante...I know… trust me... sometimes I wish a jellyfish would sting him on the tongue, just to shut him up for a while. But,” she sat down beside him, and began prying open one of the clams with her soul weapon, a small pearlescent knife, and offered him the contents. “ He thinks he means well, he just doesn’t realize he’s swimming against the current.”

He gratefully took it and slurped down the contents. His mom was always able to mediate between the three mermen, she’d find a way to make his uncle apologize, and things would be back to normal...for a while at least.

“Oh… that’s beautiful Nero! Where did you find that?” Too late he realized that by grabbing the shell, he’d inadvertently revealed his prized possession.

Parrotfish Sand! He thought, Welp, time to fib a little.

He put on a convincing smile. “Oh this? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I found it while investigating an old shipwreck a while back!” Yeah, that was believable. His dad was more permissive about him going down into the depths than into the shallows.

Unfortunately, the doubtful look on his mother’s face shattered the illusion, “Oh really? If it came from an old shipwreck it would have had more corrosion on the brass clasp, to the point where only the pendant should still have a possibility of retaining its shine. That is, if the jewelry had a high enough percentage of gold. If not, it would have been just as corrode d.”

Nero was stunned. How had she known he was lying?

“Corrosion?”

“It’s where the water and the salt…” she paused as if she was trying to find the right words, “well, simply put, they change the metal into something different, and often weaker. Human metal of course, not the metal of our soul-weapons. It’s why some shipwrecks at the bottom of the sea are all brown,and fall apart just by brushing up against it. Some metals, like gold, are resistant, some not at all.”

“How..how do you know that? About human stuff?”

She smiled softly at him, “Nero...I suppose it’s time I told you that once…” she looked up at the dappled surface, the flickering sunbeams shining down on them, “Once, I was one of them.”

Nero choked on the last of the clam he was slurping up. Maybe he hadn’t heard his mom right. There’s no way that his dad of all merfolk would have fallen for...a human? Maybe his dad didn’t know…?

“I’d hoped that your father would have explained our ‘unique’ family situation earlier on...but…” she sighed… “well, if he won’t take the first step-I mean, first stroke. I guess I should. Yes, I used to be human, and yes both your father and uncle knew about me.”

“But-” Nero was at a loss for words. True, his mom always seemed a bit ‘different’ than the other merfolk, but he’d never really minded. She was a wonderful mother, why should he care? “How?”

“Magic I suppose, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around, and I’ve had over a decade and a half to try to make sense of it.”

It still didn’t make sense to Nero. Of all the mermen to settle down with a ...human? “Dad hates humans!” he blurted out without thinking, “He always reminds me how dangerous they can be, that I should never talk to one, or be seen by one.” Instantly, he felt the urge to slap himself for such an insensitive statement.

His mother looked sad, but not because of what he had said, “I… understand where your father’s coming from, he’s had...an unpleasant history with humankind, it’s tainted his views. One day he may tell you about it, when he’s ready But,” she stroked his cheek, “even he understands humans aren’t all bad, there are some that are ignorant about what happens past their shorelines, and others that are willing to take a chance to dive beneath the waves, so to speak. I was one of the latter, and it still took me the better part of a migration to gain his trust and love. I suppose he tries to tell you those stories to keep the risk of you getting hurt as low as possible but,” she looked down at the necklace, “it seems that our family’s obsession with the surface still runs in the blood. So…” she smiled, “spill the beans, (her penchant for weird turn of phrases suddenly made a whole lot more sense), who’s the lucky human? I won’t say a word to anyone else about this.”

“It’s...it’s a girl. Her name is Kyrie...and she likes to sit on the docks and sing in Fortuna.”

“Awww, how sweet! How did you two meet?”

“Sh-she hasn’t actually met me yet” , he must have turned as red as a snapper by now, “ I just sit under the docks and listen to her singing.”

“But you have her necklace.”

“Yeah, she dropped it about four migrations back, and...well, I wanted to give it back...but…” ah well, he might as well come clean about it. Perhaps his mother would understand. “Everytime I do, I get the weirdest feeling, like I’m giving up a part of myself.” He scratched his nose, “You probably think I’m being dumb as driftwood, eh?”

“Not at all,” his mom said, surprisingly “the heart is a strange and stubborn thing, that makes us do things that we really don’t understand, but,” she smiled, “don’t be like myself and your father and deny your feelings, because you don’t know what the next wave will bring.” She pulled him close to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Just promise me that you be careful, alright? I want you to be happy, AND safe.”

Kyrie was there, sitting on the dock, just like always. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was the same. Instead of her brilliant white clothes, she wore a dress of deep black, like the depths of the ocean. And instead of singing, she remained silent, not even humming a tune. And worst of all, her beautiful smile, the thing that only the Dawnfather could compare to in brilliance, had vanished. Instead, she sat, her legs dangling over the edge, staring out to the horizon, not moving. Her beautiful eyes had lost their vibrancy, like dead seaweed, and her skin had gone pale, and sickly, like a bloated dead fish. Strange, there was wetness on her cheeks, that dribbled down before landing in her lap. Nero wasn’t sure what had happened to her. Was she ill? Hurt? All he knew, it caused his heart to constrict, and that he’d do ANYTHING to bring back her smile.

Steady footsteps on the worn wood caused him to dart back to his hiding spot under the dock. He knew the gait, even if he didn’t see him very often. Credo strode down, but slowed as he approached the young woman at the end. He was also dressed oddly, his usual white and gold outfit replaced with a dour black, quite similar to his sister’s. Was there something going on, a sort of celebration?

“Kyrie…” he spoke softly, as if he didn’t wish to disturb her, but was forced to. “I was beginning to worry when you didn’t come home after school today.”

There was no response, her eyes still locked on the horizon.

“It’s getting late, and the funeral is early tomorrow. You and I need our rest for what’s going to be a long day. The entire family will be coming over… Aunt Lisandra will be taking care of the food preparations, and- ”

“I can’t..” her voice sounded raspy, rough like a shark's skin, “I can’t go home...because mom should be there, taking the poppy seed buns out of the oven, and dad should be there in his study, putting the final touches on that painting he was working on…. But there won’t be the smell of bread in the kitchen, and that painting will always be unfinished.... Because they aren’t ever coming home again....”

Nero was perplexed. What did they mean by never seeing each other again? Even if humans couldn’t swim, they could travel anywhere in the world, they could even fly in those metal bird things he would see sometimes up in the sky.

“I know…” Credo answered soberly, “I miss them too…” he placed a hand on her shoulder, before crouching down, “but I know, wherever their spirits have gone, that they would want us to persevere, to remember them, but move forward.”

Only then, did it hit Nero with the force of a tidal wave: Kyrie wasn’t ill, or hurt...well, not in the physical sense. She was mourning for the dead. Dawnfather strike him down, what an idiot he was!

“It’s going to be difficult,” the older man conceded, “but you don’t have to bear the burden alone.” “I know…” came the response, a little less soulless, but still with grief.

“If you don’t feel like it, you don’t have to sing at the service. I don’t want you to feel unnecessary pain, just because some of our relatives desire a show,” her brother muttered darkly.

“No, I need to do this,” she argued back, “not for great uncle Lorenzo, or anyone. Just for me.”

“If that’s what you desire…”

“Yes. I just…” she sighed, “I just need some time alone for a bit more. I promise I’ll be home in an hour or two.”

“Are you sure?” “Credo…” she smiled at her brother, sadly, but with more sincerity, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. But,” her smile lost some of the grief, “thank you for everything.”

Nero stayed still for quite a while after the man had departed, ruminating on what he had heard. He hadn’t had to deal with the pain she had dealt with, but his father had, and it was obvious that his grandparents’ deaths had affected him. If there was a way to ease her pain, a way of healing the absence in her heart.

The necklace!

He looked at it in his clawed hand. He’d expected the usual reluctance to give it up yet again, but not this time. This time she needed it more than he could ever. The only issue was how to give it to her. He couldn’t just swim up and plop it in her hand, nor could he attempt to throw it up onto the dock, where there was a good chance it would just bounce off and back into the water, attracting her unwanted attention.

He looked at the glistening jewelry in his softly glowing clawws, and realized the answer was in the palm of his hand….literally. All he had to do was find the correct position, speed, and angle...it was just like spearing a fish.

Swimming far enough to get a good angle, but deep enough to not be noticed, he clenched the amulet in his hand one last time, took a mental deep breath and with a force of will, his spectral hand shot out of the water, almost silently, and with precise control, dropped the necklace on the dock with just the barest of noise, enough to get her attention, before it retracted back to himself, and he quickly returned to his hiding spot.

“Oh!” Kyrie had heard the clatter, and turned almost too quickly, a second sooner, and he would have been caught. But her eyes were immediately drawn to the necklace, glittering in the light of the evening Dawnfather, as she gingerly scooped it up.

“How in the…” she slowly caressed it in her hands, no doubt trying to figure out if it was the same one she had lost all those migrations ago. Nero swallowed as he peeked through the crack in the wood, getting as close as he dared. She closed her dull eyes as she clasped the necklace in her hands, pulling it close to her forehead. After a few moments of silence, her eyes opened, not quite back to their beautiful state, but much more clear, and on her lips, a small smile.

“Thank you…” she spoke quietly, and Nero froze. For some reason he was certain she was speaking to him. But that was impossible! He had made sure that he was completely undetectable! She hadn’t ever given an indication that she had noticed his presence. Maybe she was just speaking to the spirits of her parents or something.

But it didn’t matter, as she began to sing, a song he hadn’t ever heard before, a song full of grief, and yet hope.

Quando sono solo sogno all'orizzonte e mancan le parole

Sì lo so che non c'è luce in una stanza quando manca il sole

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me

Su le finestre

Mostra a tutti il mio cuore che hai acceso

Chiudi dentro me la luce che

Hai incontrato per strada

Time to say goodbye

Paesi che non ho mai

Veduto e vissuto con te

Adesso sì, li vivrò, con te partirò

Su navi per mari che, io lo so

No, no, non esistono più

It's time to say goodbye

And even though Nero couldn’t make out most of what she was singing, it still gave him a feeling of peace

It was the next migration, his seventeenth, when Nero finally broke the last rule. He was doing his typical thing, hovering under the dock, relaxing to the soothing music that Kyrie sang. She looked healthier, happier, and more at ease. The loss of her parents undoubtedly still had affected her, but she had grown from it. He was happy as well, hoping his action, as little and delayed as it was, had brought her some comfort.

So lost in her melodious voice, he didn’t even notice her slowly lower herself down, and with a sundenness that would have caught a dolphin off guard, poked her head underneath the dock.

“Hello there!”

His instincts screamed that he needed to flee, that he was in an extreme amount of danger right now. His muscles spasmed, and instantly he began to calculate on whether it would be safer to dive down and then out, a slower but safer way, or risk making a mad dash from the docks, putting as much distance between her and him. Then never, ever, EVER come back. He’d played far too long in the low tide, now he was in danger of being beached, metaphorically speaking.

“Wait!” Her voice called out, and against his better judgement, he paused, “Don’t go, please? I’m not going to hurt you. I just…” she paused as she tried to think of what to say, “want to thank you.”

He froze. He hadn’t expected that.

“Thank me?” Her eyes lit up brilliantly at his response.

“You CAN talk! I’m so glad! I always worried that you didn’t speak our language.” Her smile grew in delight as she pulled herself back up. Nero floated there, momentarily at a loss what to do. Should he make a swim for it? She hadn’t made a move to attack him, in fact, she was giving him an opening to escape. But what if it was a trap? He shook his head. The way she spoke, it seemed like she had known he was there for a while, possibly for multiple migrations. So, slowly, and with more than a little wariness, he swam from underneath the dock and popped up in front of her. The delight on her face was infectious, and that smile, Dawnfather be praised, that smile was for him, solely for him.

“Thank me?” He repeated, confused as he looked around, still worried he would be spotted. But aside from a few fishing vessels on the horizon, there was no one but her.

“For everything…” she explained, as her hand went to her throat, playing with her necklace,. “Every year around this time, when I’d come to the docks, I swore I felt someone watching me, supporting me, like a guardian angel.”

Nero had no clue what she was talking about, but he wouldn’t interrupt her. Her singing was beautiful, but now, her speaking to him, directly, was pure bliss. If this had been a trap, he would have been a stunned fish right now, easily hooked. But nothing happened.

“But unlike an angel...it didn’t come from above, it came from below…the water. It was you.” Her toes grazed the surface of the water, and she was so close, she could have reached out and touched him, but she didn’t. Not that he would have minded…

Her eyes went down to the necklace between her fingers. “In the darkest moment of my life, you gave me something precious. The necklace, yes… but,” she looked back at him. “Whenever I couldn’t sleep, when I felt like I was falling into despair, I would hold onto this and would feel a sense of peace, like the rise and fall of waves, of seagulls, the songs of whales. It was so comforting… That was you, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t intended it, but perhaps keeping it so close to himself for all those migrations had some residual effect.

“Uh....yeah.” It wasn’t a lie, but he wanted to slap himself with his own fins on how stupid he sounded. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner, I-”

She laughed, and Nero felt tingles everywhere in response. “It’s okay, I’m glad it was safe with you. So,” she leaned forward, getting even closer, and Nero lost himself in her eyes. If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it (not that he would want to), “Can I have your name?”

Somehow, his mouth was able to work, and he didn’t even stutter…

“Nero...my name’s Nero”

For what seemed like ages, he and Kyrie talked. She told him all about the surface world, from how they managed to stay sane despite living in the same place for migrations at a time, to her family, (he decided not to pry into her parents), to why she sang. It stunned him that not all humans enjoyed singing, how in the watery depths were they supposed to pass on knowledge to their children?

But he kept his questions to himself, and when she cautiously asked about him and his people, he felt comfortable to tell her about his family, and merfolk in general. She never pressed for more details, but she asked how long he would remain in Fortuna.

“It’s about one cycle of the Tidemother, the shoal moves out, so we gotta follow it, or else we’ll be stuck eating kelp” He couldn’t help it, he gagged at the thought. “We should be heading out when she hides Her face.”

Kyrie’s face fell a little bit. “Oh, that means you’ll be heading out pretty soon.”

“Yeah…” he agreed, and for the briefest of moments, the thought of him staying in Fortuna for the rest of the migration, eating nothing but kelp didn’t seem that bad. But explaining why he didn’t want to leave this island to his father… not so appetizing. “But guess what, I’ll be back to see you on the next migration! And I won’t hide under the dock this time!”

“You promise?”

There was a slight pause, as Nero recalled something he’d heard innumerable times

Never promise a human anything.

To the depths with that… he thought, and smiled at the young woman, the one that had unwittingly lured him in, and captured his heart.

“I promise”

#Devil May Cry #Nero #nero x kyrie #Mer!AU #Sequel to Deep Blue Sea #Spoilers for the first story

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ask-mobile-iterator-project · 29 days

Note

Asking all what are your opinions on the Ancients?

[BROADCAST HANDLED BY ADMIN AND OVERSEERS]

admin notes

firstly: thank you @cloverlady and @charlottenanachi for helping me with coloring!! and @fauxbia for helping with the writing :D

This is ask #30, wowie!! I've made a couple (3) Activation Logs I'll be posting in the next few days!! There was a comic I was working on, too, but idk when that'll be done, sorry...

I don't have Activation logs for all of them on the Askblog because I feel the first three explore what I want to share right now well enough. Hopefully you guys like LOF, PU, and SLS

In the meantime, I've also updated ToyHouse bios slightly, mostly surrounding relationships.

Also, I plan to open a Discord Server focused on my OC AU very soon!! It'll be 16+, though, due to subject matter. That being said, here is another reminder to check the content warnings!! The more lorestuff I post, the more I'll be getting into sensitive and upsetting subject matter...

and once again, "architect" is just the in-universe term for "ancient."

#iterator ask blog #mip ask #rain world oc #iterator oc #starlight symphony #legacy of famine #perpetual umbra #glimmering seafoam in sunlight #thorns without roses #frosted briar #mip worldbuilding #mip lore #minor angst #overseer assistance #admin commentary #mobile iterator project #rw mip au

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mewguca · 3 days

Text

OC Palette Swap

some bonus lineups i suppose. not 100% size/height accurate but it gives a good approximation of how freaking tall nctg and eolw are compared to the shortest

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stfredsa · 3 years

Text

THREE SONGS / not accepting .

@demottcm said : “what��s our song, fred?” from, kal

the first time he comes in, she likes the music more than she likes him.

it’s nothing personal, really —— he carries the scent of storms and long forgotten clouds, that never get to turn to rain and rest, endlessly lost, roaming the sky. she longs for the sun, these days. she remembers how the cold feels and she fears if she lets it in again it’ll never leave —— so she longs for the sun, for her skin to burn, for the sweat sliding down the back of her neck and flimsy tank tops that barely cover the translucent layer of her bones. but he carries the smell of the rain, and after a few seconds he’s sat down and it’s like he’s had a power over the scene all around ‘cause something shifts, like clouds passing over. the radio plays another song —— slow, like a drizzle. can almost feel it on her skin, for half a second.

she feels it now, still: remembering then.

“ the rain song. it was playing when you came in the first time. ” her gaze doesn’t dare rise and meet his, though the echo of a smile hooks the corner of her mouth. the echo of a song, too. the sunlight in my growing, so little warmth i’ve felt before ———

but then there’s that other song, playing on some implausible dj’s laptop at the summer festival, when everyone had gone and the bonfire was close to ashes now, except for two old men giggling like school kids on the beach, trading pills under the moonlight, and then the two of them —— different from who they were before, her lost in a flower-covered dress that both made her feel sixteen again and out of place, unpolite, having to constantly justify her presence among the bright, living souls celebrating the solstice. and him — under the moonlight, him dressed in mystery, him and a glimmer of something tender in his eyes: her and her thirst for it, the sweetness of it, the unspoken, forbidden taste of the purest nectar. and that song, as the credits rolled on an otherwise forgettable celebration. she remembers thinking, it’s too sad a song, no —— dawn is going to break soon, we should greet her with a choir. but her head was dizzy, she tripped a little trying to get back to her car, and leaning over him to find her balance again she thought the song made sense suddenly, that she could understand how things lose their footing and fall and the best laid plans still crumble in the face of cataclysm, or a storm, or just the way nature works. ships still crash over the cliffs. the tide still swells and capsizes them.

[ now my foolish boat is leaning / broken lovelorn on your rocks / … ]

“ there’s another one. song to the siren. tim buckley, do you remember that one ? ” she turns now, curious gleam in her eyes, her smile mellow —— the taste of sangria finds its way back on her tongue. “ the summer festival. when i was wasted and you were just starting to loosen up. ”

then her hand moves of its own accord, the immediate reaction to the closeness of him —— lingers over to the side of his face, loses itself in his hair. another moment resurfaces — her hand, again, reaching for him. the necessity of chemicals, electrical discharges shooting from her atoms to his. a stormy august evening, her apartment cloudy and somehow overflowing: the windows trembling with thunder and her trembling for him, and the stereo is a distant echo but she hears a song about shipwrecks and seafoam, abandon and fate, and she feels herself spilling over, uncontained, drowning: fingers hooked to his back, he the anchor, the safe harbor, the ship washing ashore.

can’t remember the lyrics, except for that one line that felt more like a prayer, or a curse, or a prophecy uttered by a smarter man who knows the fate of humans better than they could, forever lost to sin:

[ we’ll sail today / tears will drown in the wake of delight: … / you’ll never see a finer ship in your life ].

she doesn’t mention this one out loud: the memory rises up and stops the breath in her throat, for a second she flutters in and out of the moment. sparkling electricity, undetected, all over her skin. it’s when she remembers the part that follows, that she first hears the thunder.

[ i see that you’ve come to resist me / i’m a pitbull in time ].

FT. the rain song, led zeppelin. song to the siren, tim buckley. take you on a cruise, interpol.

#demottcm #IC —— each side is a loser: so who cares who fired the gun?#so.#u sent the meme like an ic ask .... so this happened #i could Not Stop Myself #i also have no idea #how i managed to pick three songs all with water references #and references to storms and the likes #i guess it's a thing now #i guess it's them ???#neways #hello #i am feeling #nsft /#DYN . KALIX —— never loved a darker blue than the darkness i've known in you.

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Note

If you want a Mirko prompt, how about her taking a trip to Okunoshima? That way we can have ALL THE BUNNIES!

Yes! All the bunnies! This was super fun to write, and I threw a smidgeon of MirHawks in there just because I wasn’t sure how to tie it up XD

Publicity Stunts

Rumi’s lips were slightly pursed as she peered out of the small window of the helicopter. Below the sleek black accents, the blue waves of Japan’s Inland Sea sloshed and splashed, throwing up bubbly white seafoam in impressive arcs. Her red eyes slowly rolled in her sockets to spy the small silhouette of the lone island nestled within the bay. The morning sun framed its lumpy shape in black; the only contrast lay in its white beaches, which ringed the landmark like a curling ribbon. The sound-canceling headphones secured over her fluffy ears protected Rumi’s sensitive eardrums from the helicopter’s persistent buffeting chops as it spirited her onward to Okunoshima- better known as “Rabbit Island.”

Rumi was traveling to the historical park-slash-island as a public relations campaign her agency dreamed up. “You’re the Rabbit Hero!” her manager had squawked optimistically. “The public would adore you socializing with all these bunnies!” The corner of Rumi’s mouth twitched from just recalling the mortifying proposal. Rumi didn’t hate her animal namesake, naturally, and knew that public relations campaigns were the lifeblood of sponsorships and popularity polls… but did she really have to gallivant off to a spit of land off the coast and cozy up to some feral rabbits for six hours? There are so many more useful things I could be doing, she moped.

The subtle shift in air pressure indicated to her that the helicopter was landing. She straightened up in her seat and compulsively combed her fingers through her long, alabaster hair. The public arrived at Okunoshima via ferry, but Rumi was a VIP if there ever was one, hence her arrival by air; however, the island was not equipped with any sort of landing pad. Instead, the helicopter descended upon a flat stretch of clearing. The grass blades whipped wildly about as they were battered by the relentless air currents sweeping down from the helicopter’s swirling blades. The small-bodied aircraft shuddered as it finally made contact with the earth. Rumi kept the noise-canceling headphones over her tall ears until the engine’s whine dwindled to a small, whimpering keen. As she was wrenching them off her head and tossing them onto the floor, the island caretaker trotted up to the aircraft.

“Did you have a pleasant flight, Miss Mirko?” He asked politely as the lithe, tanned hero climbed out of the helicopter and hopped down onto the grass. Tsking, she clawed the steel-toes of her hero suit into the dirt, digging up clumps of damp earth and dry grass.

“Indeed,” she remarked but only because courtesy was customary. “Although I would prefer to leave the flying to Hawks,” she added with a cheesy sneer. She was only teasing, but the man still tugged at his tie and sputtered something about changing arrangements. “It’s not necessary,” she shrugged with a wave of her gloved hand. “Let’s just get this thing started already.”

“But of course!” the nervous academic simpered and because barking at his numerous assistants and employees to finish the preparations for Rumi’s photoshoot. The hero scowled when her manager quipped at her to exercise proper decorum. All this red tape and two-faced bullshit. Blegh, she thought sourly. While the men and women busied themselves by setting up cameras and props, Rumi wandered to the edge of the clearing.

The helicopter’s droning chopping blades and whirring engine had doubtlessly frightened the island’s residents. Now that the machine sat silent upon the grass, curiosity was beginning to get the better of them. Rumi’s eyebrow crept up a few centimeters as a fat, furry golden rabbit hopped out of some brambles upon her coming. Its nose twitched, and its little jaws were chomping some grass blades into a paste. They live up to their tame reputation, she thought in amusement as she strolled right up to the bunny and patted its round haunches. Though she had gloves, she could tell that the creature’s fur was silky and smooth. The tourism kept the rabbits in excellent health, it seemed.

“Mirko, em, Miss Mir-”

“Just ‘Mirko’ is fine,” she informed the island director as he came trundling to the edge of the clearing. It had a slight decline, and he seemed to be having a rough time of maneuvering through the slick grass in his fancy dress shoes. He probably sits in an air-conditioned office all day. He looks so out of his element it’s not even funny, she thought in mild disdain and straightened up. The man yelped when the smooth soles of his dress shoes slipped over the grass, causing him to fall and slide down the small hill. Rumi couldn’t help but smile when he stumbled up, and his sophisticated beige dress pants sported a streak of fresh green down the left side. He nervously adjusted his tie and cleared his throat.

“Mis- I mean, Mirko, all the preparations are complete.”

Mirko hiked up the hill with ease, with the sweating academic huffing and puffing behind her. The clearing had been transformed from a blank, empty canvas in a matter of minutes. A camera crew was bustling between three different cameras, adjusting lenses and arranging white umbrella-like structures to reflect the flash in a way that would flatter Rumi most. A picnic table was situated amongst a patch of white dandelions growing not far from the helicopter. Several tin buckets of carrots were scattered here and there, likely bribing tools for the island’s furry natives. Rumi sauntered up to pluck one of the orange root vegetables out of the bucket and chomp down on it with powerful jaws. A meek young assistant girl gawked wide-eyed at her as she devoured the carrot in seconds but seemed to have more sense than to question the Number-Five Hero.

“All right,” Rumi hummed and clapped her hands together. The leather of her gloves made the smack even more resounding. “Photograph me with some of these wild rabbits so I can get back to work.” Her manager whined miserably and tipped back her head at Rumi’s show of disdain, but Rumi didn’t care. I’m a hero, not a model, she grumped. This entire photo operation will get one run in a magazine and be forgotten in two weeks.

Rumi glanced down at something brushed against her navy-blue tights. A chunky spotted rabbit was nosing her calf, seemingly demanding pets. Smirking slightly, Rumi leaned over to grab the fuzzy creature and nuzzle him against her bosom. Well, at least all my other models are super cute, she smiled and gave the bunny some well-deserved scratches behind his floppy ears. The photographer called for Rumi to approach, so she did, still holding the contented bunny rabbit.

“Quite remarkable how tame they are,” the photographer grinned under the brim of his baseball cap and patted the spotted rabbit’s flank. Several other bunnies were bounding through the grass-and-flower field toward her, obviously jealous. Chittering impatiently, they butted their furry heads against her solid calves and bounded circles around her steel-toed feet. “They rather like you.”

“Surprising,” she remarked smugly with a twitch of her furry white ears.

~~~~~~~~~~

The photographer situated her at the picnic table first. They piled several of the big rabbits on its wooden surface, with Rumi leaning her cheek in her hand and smiling while hand-feeding them carrots. It actually wasn’t that difficult a pose to maintain, as Rumi found treating the rabbits quite entertaining. Their little jaws worked tirelessly at the crunchy orange root and sprigs of green leaves while their long ears constantly swiveled, searching the airwaves for any signs of danger. Their beady black eyes glittered in the sunlight; beady indeed but glimmering with an individual intelligence and charm that made Rumi smile happily. She removed one of her white leather gloves to stroke the length of one’s back, admiring the impeccable softness of its fur. By the time the photographer announced that they would be moving on to the next phase of the photoshoot, she was rather enjoying herself.

They got a few candid shots of Rumi strolling about through the tall grasses with the curious bunnies hopping along behind her. After a few minutes, she elected to have a fair bit of fun and crouched down to begin jumping along with her powerful legs. The rabbits sprinted after her, then playfully ran circles around her squatting body when she paused. The smile on her face was beaming as she hopped around the clearing with the bunnies. Twenty of them had meandered onto the photoshoot set, nearly all of them dashing along with the laughing Rumi.

“Ahaha! You guys sure are a lot of fun!” she crowed as she rolled onto her back, holding one of the fluffy bunnies aloft. Two more of them clambered up onto her belly, thumping against the toned flesh with powerful paws, while another climbed up her inclined legs to perch on her knees. Another still nested in her voluminous white hair and began chewing on the thin strands, thinking it nourishment. “Hey, cut that out,” she snickered and shoved it in the rump. It twitched its cottony, ball-shaped tail but obediently spat out her long locks. She heard the shutter of the camera snapping frantically and sat up, the rabbits slouching off her like they were boneless sacks of meat.

“I am so relieved you are enjoying our island’s residents!” the director sighed. He was sweating less now, though his earlier fit was evidenced by the damp patches in the armpits of his blue dress shirt. The green grass stripe still glared starkly in his pressed pants, and his tie was crumpled from how relentlessly he had been fidgeting with it.

“Yes, indeed,” she smiled while holding up one of the fluffy denizens. “I was unsure about it at first, but these little guys are quite adorable.” The camera flashed a few more times as Rumi brought the rabbit to her face to nuzzle her cheeks against the top of its head.

“This article is going to make headlines!” her manager cooed with happiness beside the reporter, who was scribbling notes on his notepad. Honestly, Rumi could care less about the publicity or her ratings. She flopped back into the fresh green grasses, and the bunnies immediately congregated around her, nuzzling into every spare inch of space they could find. Their warm bodies insulated Rumi, spreading cozy head from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes; her eyes drifted shut at the contenting heat. She giggled as one of the bunnies nosed her face, and its whiskers tickled her soft skin.

There are more useful things I could be doing, she thought as her mind descended into the twilight of half-sleep, but I suppose a hero could use a break every once and a while. She supposed she could have netted herself a more annoying public relations campaign than falling asleep beneath the summer sun blanketed by cute little bunnies, after all.

She would have appreciated it if they hadn’t used that image as the front cover for Heroes Magazine, however.

Rumi glared thunderously at Hawks as he sat across from her at the café table. He was doubled over in the wrought-iron chair cackling so hysterically that the other patrons were glancing over in concern. Rumi’s tall white ears repeatedly twitched in annoyance at the high pitch of his snickers. After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly sat up, a hand over his mouth to smother the lingering giggles leaking out.

“Are you finished, Hawks?”

“I’m sorry,” the red-winged hero whimpered with another fervid glance at the damning photograph plastered on the cover of the magazine. “It’s just- It makes you look so innocent and sweet!” he howled and threw himself back in the chair. As he flung his bulk, the chair tipped backward on two legs. “Oh no!” he yelped and pinwheeled his arms to rebalance himself. The iron furniture seemed to hang in the air for a moment before falling backward, gaining momentum before striking the concrete with a resounding clang. Rumi smirked, fancying karma had struck the bird-brain quite justly. “I suppose I deserved that,” he huffed while pulling himself up using the edge of the glass-topped café table.

“I agree with you, actually,” she huffed and daintily sipped at her latte. “That photograph is horrible for my reputation. I can’t have all my young fans thinking I’m some delicate princess.” Hawks grinned at her as he righted his chair and plunked down, more cautiously this time. He laced his fingers and tucked him under his chin, and his shining eyes gleamed behind his golden visor.

“True, I suppose. Although- and don’t hit me for this- I think it’s also quite a flattering image of you.” Rumi’s cheeks flushed hot and red, and she thumped his shin under the table with the flat of her foot. He whined miserably and clutched at his assaulted leg. “I said, don’t hit me!”

“I didn’t. I kicked you.”

“That’s even worse! You could crush watermelons with your thighs, y’know, so I’m sure one of your kicks could crush bones!” he whined, rubbing tenderly at the likely bruised flesh. Rumi smirked, momentarily fantasizing what crushing a watermelon on live television would do for her image. Her red eyes fell back to the magazine, where she lay amongst the flowers and snoozing bunnies. Her white hair cascaded around her, running like rivers of milk between her tanned limbs and the bunnies’ multicolored fur. Her lips were slightly parted, and her head tilted to the side, making the golden sunlight spill over her dark skin and make it glow a rich bronze. Her eyes were slightly scrunched up. She really did look innocent and content… and dare she say, beautiful. Her cheeks hazed again, and she looked at Hawks to find him grinning seductively.

She kicked him in the other shin, and he wailed miserably. She stood from the table, draining the dregs of her latte as he pitifully peered up at her. “Mirko, whyyy?”

“Because you’re a hundred years too early to try and flirt with me, feathers,” she huffed. The ceramic mug clinked against the saucer as she set it down. Grinning, Rumi flashed him a wink. “But I might forgive you if you buy my coffee. Ciaoooo~!” Using her thick legs, she sprinted away, leaving Hawks cursing yet impressed in the dust. Her laughter floated back to him on the wind.

Needless to say, that photoshoot worked wonders for her popularity, in all sorts of ways…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @simplybakugou @sadistiks

#mirko #miruko #rumi usagiyama #usagiyama rumi #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #my hero fanfiction #my hero fanfic #bnha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #boku no hero academia fanfiction #boku no hero academia fanfic

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fistsoflightning · 4 years

Text

high tide

the rogue’s guild has a few aces up their sleeves.

gatheredfates’ [30 day wol challenge] | prompt: gentle

(mermay mermay mermay, i chant as if i didn’t forget about it until today.)

every la noscean knew that costa del sol, in the prime of summer, was the best location to take an extended summer vacation—if not for the moonfire festival, then for the view; sunsets painted with dreamy pinks and golds and cerulean seas, fireworks that lit up the sparkling night sky with rainbow fire. even the pirate ships that occasionally sailed by seemed picturesque under the right lighting.

and yet, despite the golden-blue sunset painted today across costa del sol’s skies, jacke, v’kebbe, and perimu all take a turn to the crab-infested beaches just south of the wooden boardwalks and firework displays, heading straight to the secluded cove where the sea rolls in just far and deep enough to let fish in.

“underfoot, are ye certain it’s high tide?” v’kebbe asks as she rolls up her gaskins to look like shorts, using the normal pale green bandages to tie them into place with such ease; jacke really should consider asking how she does it so swiftly, seeing as how he’s still fumbling with his. their sandals have all been tossed into a pile, haphazardly stacked behind a pile of coconuts some idiot decided to use a fishing net to hold together.

perimu scoffs from where he stands, holding the small furoshiki like any old satchel despite it’s precious contents. he doesn’t make an attempt to change his clothes into something that wouldn’t be soaked; his height makes high tide a bit… dangerous. “o’ course! otherwise this cove ‘ere would be dry as bone.”

“right.” v’kebbe looks skeptical even as she picks up her lalafell coworker and walks past jacke to a rocky outcropping, the gleaming cerulean sea swallowing her legs until jacke can barely tell which reflection below v’kebbe’s folded gaskins is her actual legs. “hurry it up, jacke; yer the one they respond to.”

“shut yer gob for a bit, stray! not all o’ us can tie knots right quick.”

even though jacke quickly strings up his gaskins and joins them in the thigh deep cove, brilliantly colored schools of fish swirling around them, there is no sign of their mermaid confidant until the clouds burst in a fury of glimmering raindrops. the moment the downpour begins, like a waking call, rhela’s tail flicks above water, the colors of the sunset catching in the droplets flying from her tail like little gemstones.

“wyda will be here soon, i think!” rhela chirps loudly as she seats herself precariously on a few flat rocks farther into the cove, tail still soaking in the sea. her seafoam green scales glimmer in the fading sunlight, a red glint hidden carefully among the shimmering reflections her tail scatters across the stones covering the little cavern.

“yer fantasia is in here, miss rhela—two bottles worth,” perimu says with an air of sarcastic formality, tossing the small green furoshiki to the mermaid—and thank the twelve underfoot’s aim is good, landing their half of the trade squarely in rhela’s hands, otherwise jacke would have had the uncontrollable urge to shake the man; those fantasias were frustrating to find, much less two.

“ah, thanks! my twin brother has the stabbers an’ potions ye’ll need, since he found the wreck ‘fore me,” rhela explains, her tail swishing back and forth in tiny nervous circles. next to her tail, syhrwyda pokes her head up with a smile sharp as a knife, sunset orange scales bright against the seawater. “but he’s… well.”

rhela points out to the ocean just past the safety of the small cove all of them had selected for their meetings, and jacke misses the point entirely, staring out to the ships sailing towards costa de sol and the fish swarming in colorful, shimmering tides. thankfully, he isn’t the only one searching.

“jacke,” v’kebbe says as she walks to his side, carrying perimu on her shoulder much like the flame general did the sultana. “he’s just about past the part o’ the cove we can stand ‘pon. see him peekin’ above the water?”

and surely enough, in a small patch of moonlight, jacke finds rhela’s twin barely poking his head above water, near identical to the more adventurous mermaid waiting impatiently for her brother to gather his guts and come up. the only notable difference between the two merfolk is their haircuts; rhela kept hers short, and her merman counterpart…

his moonlight silver hair reaches down to his chin, sterling blue tips slowly dripping as the cloudburst keeps his hair soaked.

“y’see, tehra’ir’s a tad afraid o’ humans,” rhela says quietly as jacke watches her twin sink a little further underwater, clearly afraid of the attention he’s gotten. “if mermaids were considered part o’ yer code, then yer code would have been broken; pirates thought he’d make a bene prize for an auction… an’ now he’s more wary than he’s curious.”

it’s always pirates, isn’t it. jacke’s expression sours just slightly, but that seems enough to put tehra’ir—who has been staring only at him since they noticed him—off enough that he floats away from the sandy bottom, the sapphire blue fish circling him turning to school around v’kebbe’s feet instead.

well, if he has the goods we need to compete with the bloody roses...

jacke can feel the cold stone giving into open waters with his toes as he walks closer to the edge of the cove, but he dares to step just a bit further when tehra’ir shies even further away from the cove. the humid summer storm barely brushes against his face, and faintly, jacke thinks he can smell levin in the air.

pray your luck is better than the last time it poured, jacke. can’t lead the guild if you’re toast.

“tehra’ir,” jacke coos, a small bit of embarrassment creeping up on him for being so soft among all the quiet resentment jacke has for those pirates rhela mentioned but moments ago. he has half a mind to kneel down until he realizes he’d be chest deep in ocean water. “mind comin’ closer? promise i won’t hurt ye. rogue’s honor.”

the merman looks curiously at his hands before floating closer, watching warily as jacke unties his bandana. small waves, soothing and gentle, pulse from where his head breaches the sea surface, tehra’ir’s nose just high enough above the water so that jacke can see the tip of a scar on his right cheek.

surprisingly, tehra’ir doesn’t flinch when jacke leans over (like a fool, seeing as one slip could send him tumbling into a fifty fulm sea trench without so much as a lifeline), brushes tehra’ir’s seawater soaked hair back, and ties the bandana around his head instead. even rhela sounds impressed, from where she’s sitting with syhrwyda, her soft gasp the only noise accompanying the splashing waves and jacke’s small chuckle.

“ye can have it,” jacke says quietly, chuckling quietly into his palm when tehra’ir’s hand suddenly splashes out of the sea to feel the fabric. rhela had a penchant for the bandana, too, so it was only natural that her twin... “i’ve extras to spare, an’ it fits pretty well, eh? makes ye look more confident.”

as tehra’ir beams back at him, gentle sunlight and torrential rain reflecting off his fangs—did all merfolk have pointy teeth, jacke idly wondered—jacke’s feet slip on a miniscule patch of too-smooth stone and send him falling face first into—

into the fifty fulm trench, without a lifeline.

“shite—!”

the ocean is still fairly cold compared to the humid midsummer above, forcing jacke to gasp and choke on the salt water he inhales and gods he’s afraid he might drown here if tehra’ir just stares, his tail curled up in confusion as jacke sinks deeper despite his best efforts; curse him and his poor swimming abilities.

(part of him thinks to look around, to take in the sights of the rainbows of coral and gemstone scaled fish, so similar to the vibrance of costa del sol’s skies filled with fireworks when pitted against the deep blue sea. below, a cavern deeper than he can see and lined with shimmering goods—rhela and tehra’ir’s makeshift home, if he remembered correctly, the seastone spiraling downwards with the currents slowly pulling him in like gravity.

another part of him tells that childish wonder to stubble it because he’s fallen into the sea. not swimming, not able to breathe properly, not graced with the lungs of a merman but bordering on drowning if he doesn’t do something—grab onto the stone by your side or the crimson coral above do anything dammit—)

like a bullet from milala’s revolver, tehra’ir dives towards him, hands outstretched and eyes wide. his tail glimmers with the same light that his sister’s does; bright red like a warning and nearly overtaking the seafoam green underneath it all as he rushes to shove his arms under jacke’s and swim up, up, up until...

air, his mind rabidly thinks, breathe dammit just breathe—

when jacke’s head breaks the surface of the water, he gasps loud enough to wake the dead, choking on air as tehra’ir lifts him higher, moving jacke’s hands onto his shoulders rather than clinging to his chest. the salt water in his eyes blurs the golden blue skies into one, grey clouds melting like moonlight against the sun, and jacke wheezes as he tries to right his mind.

(not drowning not underwater not in a shipwreck not tossed over the boardwalk—)

“are… are ye alright?” tehra’ir asks meekly, and for a second jacke can’t quite tell his voice apart from rhela’s, nearly mistaking it for her until tehra’ir coughs, quiet under the splashing rain.

oh, jacke thinks as his mind stops in place, lungs slowing down and seafoam scaled hands holding him in place, above water further than necessary. he’s not used to speaking common, is he. easily embarrassed, too.

and rather than come up with a coherent response, jacke laughs instead, a sunlit smile working its way onto his face, and tehra’ir goes from worry to confusion to smiling too, emerald eyes scrunching up as he joins in the laughter.

(jacke would have tried to say i’m fine, thanks to you if he had any rational sense left, but it seems like tehra’ir and falling into the sea are both quick ways to rob him of his usual smarts.)

tehra’ir swims the both of them close enough to the outcropping rhela’s sat upon. jacke climbs up, dripping wet and white shirt soaked through as he sits next to the mermaid—which, in retrospect, was not the best time he’s had. rhela slings her arm over his shoulders, laughing even as she holds her fantasia bottle close to her chest, and tehra’ir dives back down, tail spraying a gentle mist over all of them—even v’kebbe, much to her dismay.

“color me impressed, cap’n,” rhela says sweetly, eyes glinting with a trickster’s touch. “haven’t seen him smile that bright since we met wyda.”

“and he let you hug ‘im—even if that was t’ save yer sorry hide,” syhrwyda says, voice loud as the cloudburst begins to calm, and—wait, jacke had hugged him? “i was ‘bout to rush o’er there myself! didn’t think tehra’ir had it in ‘im!”

and as tehra’ir slowly, carefully resurfaces holding a pair of sliver daggers, a small vial of glimmering blue liquid, and a small, well polished and gleaming pearl pin, jacke can’t help but return tehra’ir’s shy smile with one of his own, any embarrassment he might have withheld from clinging to the merman melting away.

his smile is nicer than his sister’s, jacke thinks as he reaches out to grab all three treasures, the yoshimitsu knives lighter than he’d expected. when he reaches out to take the pearl pin, however, tehra’ir lifts out of the water a tad higher and pins it to jacke’s soaked shirt lapel before he can protest against it.

“i thought we’d only needed the stabbers an’ the edelweiss potion t’ get into the roses’ tub, jacke,” v’kebbe says with a snarky grin, catching onto rhela’s wild-eyed expression faster than jacke thought she would. “have ye been charmed by a merman or the other way ‘round?”

“ah, stubble it,” jacke says even as her laughter pierces the calmed seas, the storm finally over; those were just folktales made to keep children away from sea. “yer jus’ as bad as bleedin’ heart.”

(and yet, somewhere deep down in his chest only uncovered by tehra’ir’s eyes, jacke’s certain those tales had a pearl of truth in them.)

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #seaswolchallenge #jacke swallow #tehra'ir naphto #rhela naphto #v'kebbe #perimu haurimu #syhrwyda maetityrbwyn #mermay #mermaid au #yknow? sometimes ya just gotta mermay it up?#anyways. im a little unsure about this one but! it just means i can rewrite it at a later time >:3c #its a little fast-paced but its fine #mayhaps.... more mermaid au will be had later.#s: upright edelweiss #my writing #tales from the blue

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