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mewmetal · 2 years

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“Witness the trio of terror! Harpie Lady Sisters!”

#yugioh #ygo #duel links #harpie lady #harpie lady sisters #harpie deck #winged beast #duel monsters #mai valentine #mai kujaku #konami #mygifs

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the-dark-magicians · 5 months

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Harpie's Pet Dragon - Fearsome Fire Blast ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ Monsters cannot target Level 6 or lower "Harpie" monsters for attacks. You can only use each of the following effects of "Harpie's Pet Dragon - Fearsome Fire Blast" once per turn. • If you control a Level 6 or lower WIND monster: You can Special Summon this card from your hand in Defense Position. • If this card is sent from the field to the GY: You can send 1 WIND Winged Beast monster from your Deck to the GY.

#cya harpies pet ._.#these in my deck now lmaoooo #REMEMBER WHEN THE ONLY HARPIES PET DRAGON WAS LIKE $150 #I HAD TO TRADE SPELLBOOK OF JUDGEMENT FOR IT IN LIKE 2014 #yugioh #ygo #yugioh!#ygo dm #duel monsters #yu gi oh #yu-gi-oh #yugioh dm #harpie lady #y2k anime #card #anime gif #anime gifs #my gifs

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omarwolaeth · 1 month

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Trying to write an OC centric fic that will maybe see the light of day (probably not), and I just realised I could write an entire two chapters in a way much more fitting to an incredibly important canon character and it just... slipped my mind entirely that I could do that.

Whoops.

#marwospeaking #I didn't even need to do D/D/D stuff. Literally only needed to figure out a whole new deck that isn't D/D/D (not hugely complicated) ..#.. and duel from there versus Harpie. It's fine (lying)#it took until chapter 11 for Pendulum to happen at all.#For anyone curious said OC fic centres on for pov is currently acting as my pfp. I love her dearly but I do make her Suffer a hell of a lot

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lizdaoot · 9 months

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Playing the L&D event in Master Duel made me remember how much better the game is when handtraps are favored over regular traps Going first matters less, all cards generally have lower power(Shifter, Droll and SPECIFICALLY MAXX C IN THE CASE OF MD excluded), and playing against handtraps is so much more fun because when you're going against set 5 you know "Aight gotta go through exactly 5 cards" but every card in your opponent's hand at any given time could be a handtrap

And also just as an extra reason to hate regular traps Cards like this can go eat my ass

#yugioh #ygo #master duel #like on paper trap cards are cooler because you have to build a deck around them but #when all of them are this powerful it just turns games into a case of if you go second you lose #if your opponent draws Storm or Harpie's you lose and if that doesn't happen you have 50 blowout cards

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jontheredrc · 1 year

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okay, for awhile, I’ve been avoiding PvP on YuGiOh Duel Links because I would always get harangued by people who would hammer repeatedly on a taunt like “go ahead! make your move!” if it was taking me more than three seconds to do something (which, like, c’mon, there are thousands upon thousands of cards, I’m going to need a moment to figure out what yours do)

but I hopped on yesterday to get to 20 wins for the reward and had a lot of fun! people weren’t rude, I engaged in a little clownery, and I had a little eureka moment when I realized that I could equip “Bashing Shield” to my opponent’s monster too, and stall for time that way

Equip only to a Normal Summoned/Set monster. It gains 1000 ATK. You take no battle damage from attacks involving it.

if you bumped into a Gradius deck on the lower ranks yesterday, it might have been me! in fact, I was thinking of adding YGO to possible things I can stream!

#i know i know i talk about streaming far more often than i really do it #i really want to but as an introvert i don't always have the energy to be in public like that #but i gotta admit - i was gonna put duel links down for good until just recently #in the course of making a gradius deck i also ended up with a lot of harpie cards #and with those cards i have built a very consistent but very dull deck focused on returning cards to the hand #there aren't many ways to protect against it and it makes it so i don't have to interact with your cards' effects (which isn't very fun imo)#then they added b.e.s. big core mk iii to the game and blaster cannon core is coming soon so i guess i'm back

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nanintell · 1 year

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me: i activate toy vendor! opponent: then i activate mystical typhoon! me: oh my thanks i get to choose a card from deck to my hand. i added fluffal wing. also, i summoned fluffal owl and added polymerization to my hand. me: also, without delay! i activate my SECOND toy vendor! opponent: however! i also activate my SECOND mystical typhoon! me: ... haha thanks since i got to add a card once more! this time, i added edge imp sabres anddd polymerization activates! opponent: uh oh

#yugioh duel links #so yeah i already have poly in my hand by the time i activate 2nd toy vendors although i initially hoped for some draw power haha #my opponent played harpie deck btw #after i cleared her board and about to get worlf out she surrendered

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trident-dragion · 2 years

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Over the Nexus Deck Profile: DARK Harpie

Harpies are one of the oldest archetypes in the game, dating back to Duelist Kingdom. Legendary Collection: Joey's World would introduce more support that makes them a competent strategy, but we're not there yet. So how do we make them playable? By falling back on Dark Simorgh, of course! The DARK attribute contains enough powerful staples that you can easily outfit a WIND focused deck with enough DARK monsters to make Dark Simorgh accessible. Being a Winged-Beast focused deck, we can also slot in a couple Blackwing cards for access to powerful Synchros, too! The idea of the deck is to swarm the field with Harpie Lady 1 using Elegant Egotist to magnify our attack power, which also applies to Dark Simorgh since it's also treated as WIND while face-up on the field, and use Harpie's Hunting Ground and Icarus Attack to clear the opponent's backrow. Ideally, we'll clear the backrow before summoning Dark Simorgh, which prevents the opponent from setting new cards after they lost the backrow they had. Harpie Queen is another powerful element of the deck, being a searcher for Hunting Ground that's also a WIND monster for Dark Simorgh, and when it's on the field it becomes a Harpie Lady with 1900 base attack. The emphasis on DARK and WIND Winged-Beast also lends itself well to outside boss monsters, in the form of Earthbound Immortal Aslla piscu, and Raiza the Storm Monarch. Aslla piscu is a natural fit into a Winged-Beast deck that also plays a good field spell, while Raiza is a powerful tribute summon that also happens to be level 6, an ideal level for pairing with one of our two Tuners, Plaguespreader Zombie. I've posted many decks with Dark Simorgh as the focus, but this one is probably the one that takes advantage of its strengths the most, easily setting up for its summon, boosting its attack power, and wiping away the opponent's backrow to ensure Dark Simorgh arrives safely and locks the opponent out of trap cards. Funnily enough, like my Blackwing deck, this one ended up with a 20/10/10 ratio too! MONSTERS (20): Birdface x3 Blackwing - Gale the Whirlwind x1 Blackwing - Zephyrus the Elite x1 Dark Simorgh x3 Earthbound Immortal Aslla piscu x1 Gorz the Emissary of Darkness x1 Harpie Lady 1 x3 Harpie Queen x3 Plaguespreader Zombie x1 Raiza the Storm Monarch x1 Sangan x1 Tragoedia x1 SPELLS (10): Dark Hole x1 Elegant Egotist x3 Foolish Burial x1 Giant Trunade x1 Harpies' Hunting Ground x3 Monster Reborn x1 TRAPS (10): Call of the Haunted x1 Hysteric Party x1 Icarus Attack x3 Mirror Force x1 Solemn Judgment x1 Solemn Warning x2 Torrential Tribute x1 EXTRA DECK: Ally of Justice Catastor x1 Black Rose Dragon x1 Blackwing Armed Wing x1 Blackwing Armor Master x1 Brionac, Dragon of the Ice Barrier x1 Colossal Fighter x1 Dark End Dragon x1 Goyo Guardian x1 Magical Android x1 Mist Wurm x1 Red Dragon Archfiend x1 Scrap Dragon x1 Stardust Dragon x1 Thought Ruler Archfiend x1 Trishula, Dragon of the Ice Barrier x1

#yu-gi-oh!#world championship 2011: over the nexus #deck profile #harpie lady #harpie lady 1 #dark simorgh #elegant egotist #harpie queen #harpie's hunting ground #earthbound immortal aslla piscu

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships.

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing.

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel.

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe.

For years they did this until they were gone too.

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time.

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman.

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder.

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance.

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more.

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified.

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you.

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders.

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away.

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind.

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock.

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation.

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you.

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind?

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant.

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back.

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel.

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt.

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all.

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued.

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned.

Nothing.

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins.

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting.

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south.

And then you lock eyes once more.

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself.

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him.

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

“Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.”

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements.

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples.

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?”

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills.

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear.

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before.

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.”

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind.

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?”

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly.

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in.

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising.

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave.

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze.

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.”

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships.

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living.

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.”

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.”

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids.

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting?

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart.

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him.

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still.

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash.

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face.

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel.

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish.

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him.

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck.

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked.

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head.

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand.

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings.

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.”

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.”

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden.

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment.

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them.

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles.

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.”

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping.

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you.

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you.

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?”

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching.

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch.

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement.

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up.

Feels nice.

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing.

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following.

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist.

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t.

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose.

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.”

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?”

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look.

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.”

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening.

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?”

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does.

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.”

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips.

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different.

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment.

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.”

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship.

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne.

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.”

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.”

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt.

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often.

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle.

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen.

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.”

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—”

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh.

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…”

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.”

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?”

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat.

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction.

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat.

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

“Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once.

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers.

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

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blackopals-world · 1 year

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Floyd: So you're a siren?

Harpy!Yuu: No, harpy.

Floyd:but you're supposed to use your voice to make sailors crash right?

Harpy!Yuu: No, I'm more of the pounce on the deck and drag sailors off to my nesting colony. Then rip their insides out to feed the fledglings.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twisted wonderland incorrect quotes #floyd twisted wonderland #twst floyd #floyd leech x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #harpy!yuu

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yanderecookierunkingdom · 4 months

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Can you do wedding headcanons for the Dragons with there Y/N on the day they married separate or poly your choice

Pitaya Dragon Cookie, despite their bravado, was a nervous wreck. They had no clue about weddings or anything of the sort, so they had to enlist Hollyberry Cookie's help. (That's a story she tells after the vows about how they came barreling into the castle, practically in hysterics as they demanded to know "HOW DO YOU PLAN A WEDDING?!?!")

Lots of red and green for the theme, but you're the only one allowed to wear white. They do still have their sword, and they won't hesitate to pull it on any guests that dare to wear white.

Somehow, the vows and the reception go along without a hitch. It's when the berry juice comes out that everything starts going wild.

Ananas Dragon Cookie was nearly beat up by Pitaya Dragon Cookie when they made a joking remark about you being a part of the hoard now. Your partner nearly threw hands then and there while shouting about how you were, "my treasssure! N- *hic* No one getsss to have them other than me!!"

You have to deal with a very cuddly and lovey-dovey partner once they're drunk, but you wouldn't have it any other way. The day, by your standards, was absolutely perfect.

Longan Dragon Cookie is basically a harpy about the wedding. If nothing is perfect they will LOSE THEIR MIND.

Everything had to be in order. Everything has to be exactly the way it is. If it isn't, they will correct it themselves and give a harsh glare to whomever screwed it up.

The color theme is more muted colors, though you're the only one getting to wear an outfit the exact same shade as the gold they wear. Longan Dragon Cookie will not hesitate to have someone smote for wearing the color reserved for you only.

During the vows is when anyone can see the smile only they normally give you. They're finally together with their perfect partner, nothing can change that.

Dancing? Dancing.

It's overall a very calm and happy wedding! Everyone knows better than to upset Longan Dragon Cookie during this time.

Your wedding with Lotus Dragon Cookie has the best music, there's no doubt about it.

The shades of blue mix beautifully with green and purple, and yet your lover can't help but keep their eyes on you.

Lotus Dragon Cookie is going to be yours for the rest of time. They remember hearing your wish, for love and for companionship, and decided that just for a bit, they'd give it to you. They never thought they'd end up marrying you, but they don't mind one bit.

Their smile wavers just a bit as they see you walk up the aisle, but it's from happiness. They're the most noticeably emotional, with some tears pricking in their eyes. This is their wish come true, seeing you coming to marry them.

They absolutely play a song to you following the vows and the party beginning. They stayed up ages making it, and seeing your elated face makes it all worth it.

Ananas Dragon Cookie very nearly didn't invite the other dragons, but you managed to convince them. All it took was mentioning that they were the first to be wed, and look at their, their pride is through the roof and they're boasting over it.

You're definitely decked out in clothes that Ananas Dragon Cookie approved previously. While they love you immensely, only they get to see parts of your body some of those outfits would show off.

They're practically glowing with pride as you walk down the aisle. They just can't believe how lucky they are.

Ananas Dragon Cookie is always by your side afterward. Be it for dinner, dancing, speeches, anything. You're their shining jewel, and everyone needs to know who you willingly wed.

Expect lots of kisses afterwards.

#cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #crob x reader #pitaya dragon cookie x reader #longan dragon cookie x reader #lotus dragon cookie x reader #ananas dragon cookie x reader #cosmos constellations #i didnt include lychee dragon cookie because of how they seem like a child to me. apologies

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 28 days

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Skizzekai- First Few Days Summary

Now that the asks have calmed down a bit, and hermits have been established, here's a summary post to get a general idea of where we're working from. I've also cleaned up any plotholes best I can.

Skizz, a human from Earth, was summoned to this fantasy world by god-king Joel. A prophecy stated he would defeat a great evil. It did not explain how. He keeps a journal to help him figure things out and keep track of everything.

Over his adventures so far, Skizz has made both allies and enemies, and picked up a magical necklace from travelling merchants. His suit also picked up durability enchantments somewhere, but only after the sleeves came off. The necklace was made for mages, gathering and focusing ambient magic for their use. It was not designed for a creature with no magic of their own.

He probably wouldn't have stayed human either way, but the necklace certainly sped it up. He's adapted to the world, become able to use it's magic, and dragonfly wings have begun to sprout from his back.

This could be concerning. But Skizz finds he loves his wings, his adaptation to the world that is gradually becoming his home. He embraces it. Maybe he really does belong here. Maybe soon he'll even be able to fly.

Joel, the ruler of the lore kingdom and recently ascended god, was originally an ogre- but after the belief of his people sent him through a few transformations, he's settled into his divine status. He can look however he wants now! But an ogre form is still most natural to him. Just a really tall and handsome ogre.

Skizz finds quick allies in Tango, Impulse, and Zed. Tango is a being of fire, with strong flame magic connected to his emotions. He is also in possession of a magical deck of cards. Zedaph, apprentice of Death Himself, joined their group after bringing Skizz back from the dead. He insisted on the completion of some difficult tasks first, but now they're buddies! He's also capable of reality distortion magic, knows alchemy, and has a card of luck magic Tango gave him. Everyone is terrified of Zedaph. Probably for good reason.

Impulse.... may not have intended to become an ally. The demonic man used to work for the forces of evil- before Skizz showed up, and his doubts became a true betrayal to join the side of good. They became fast friends. He doesn't want Skizz to become lost like the last hero was.

That last hero is one Gemini Tay, human-turned-Drowned, who was summoned a few years back, and is not happy about Skizz. It's like she's not even needed anymore. She puts a bounty on Skizz's head. She cannot accept her failure.

Chasing that bounty is False, harpy and former pirate queen. She may have had to leave her crew after that deal lead to a mild case of possession, but she still appreciates some good treasure. That's why she's been working as a travelling merchant.

Her fellow merchants, Cub and Scar, are equally possessed but not quite as motivated. They mostly just like messing with people. Including Skizz. Maybe especially Skizz. They are fae, after all.

Skizz did have one unfortunate interaction with them- he got his name taken for a bit. Fortunately, after returning Scar's cat familiar to him, the name was given back.

Gem isn't the only former human in this world. Joe Hills, a half-ghost living in the republic of the undead, was summoned from Nashville a while back, and befriended Prime Minister Cleo along the way.

Cleo's republic was once a kingdom, run by Ren, but as soon as she got the throne she declared the monarchy over. She got voted in, and Ren is her second in command. Together they run the place, maintaining the army of constructs and fighting back against the sculk creeping into the tunnels.

Most humans that end up in this world don't tend to stay human long. The ambient magic eventually soaks in and alters them, and most embrace it. The changes are a new beginning, or a sign of belonging in this strange world. But Hypno did not embrace it.

No, Hypno was the human half of a changeling deal, and has been clinging to his humanity for quite a while. He's even gotten hold of an artifact, somehow, that pushes the ambient magic out of his body, keeping him human. His friend, Jevin, is a slime guy who enjoys being a slime guy, and doesn't understand this drive to stay human one bit. Magic is cool.

Other hermits that I couldn't neatly tie into the one ramble:

Wels is a selkie proficient in bard magic, and a former member of False's crew.

Stress is a fae queen who rules a kingdom specializing in ice magic, with Iskall as her loyal bodyguard.

TFC is a miner of unknown species who helped Skizz out during a quest

Mumbo is not a vampire, thank you very much. He's actually the former god of the night who lost half his power. Vampires were made from that stolen half.

Pearl is a moth fae who used to rule a prosperous kingdom... until a talking dog came to advise her, corrupting her into a cruel and evil queen. She has since slain the beast, fled into exile, and changed her ways. She now works delivering mail.

Etho and Bdubs are plant constructs, guarding a deep and dangerous jungle. Etho may have a metallic shell, but he's all plant inside. Doc and Beef guard the jungle as well, the four of them ensuring safe passage for travellers. Doc in particular has the ability to become absolutely gigantic.

Xisuma was a bubbling puddle of nothing that became a person and sustains itself on bones. Far too many bones. Bones in places they really should not be, such as outside the skin.

Keralis is a unicorn! He is also a menace who is very protective of his magic, refusing to use it unless he feels like it. Claims to be able to read the value of souls. Bothers xB by calling him the princess of the lake. xB is not a princess.

Grian is... something. He's strange, is what he is. He's a nice guy, and helpful to Skizz, but has these weird mutterings about "watchers", and what was that about accidentally stealing Mumbo's power?

And that's the AU so far! It's still going, so send in more ideas when you have them. Happy headcanoning!

#skizzekai au #not a headcanon #mod mleem

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monsoon-of-art · 9 months

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Lovebug's got that full Harpy Deck

#myocs #hayday #lovebug #neon hero

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heliads · 1 year

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Hiya! I sent a request earlier but i dont know if it sent in because i had bad wifi- so please ignore this if it sent in- (so sorry for the repeat) but i found your blog and you write the best luke Castellan fics ive ever read!! Could i request a Luke Castellan x Reader where reader is Percy’s older sibling? Like reader has been in the hermes cabin as an unclaimed since they came to camp with luke thalia annabeth and grover- so theyve gotten used to it but then percy gets there and they get claimed at the same time as him but they get upset because they feel like they were only claimed because the gods want to use them and they dont want to move into a big empty cabin with some kid they dont know? Thank you thank you thank you!!

thank you!! also this request HITS, anything for my man luke

masterlist

Luke Castellan thinks that he may come to regret this.

He’s sitting on the roof of the Hermes cabin, his favorite spot to get away from the noise currently roiling somewhere below him. Luke loves the people in Cabin Eleven, his half-siblings on the godly side and those who don’t have a true immortal parent to call their own. Not one they know, at least. That has always bothered him and likely always will.

Despite the fun of those good kids all decked out in orange t-shirts, gleeful grins, and bitter stares, the sound of all that teenage rage and rebellion can get to just about anyone. Curfew was already called, but the cleaning harpies won’t be around for a while, so Luke dares to stay out of doors for a few moments more.

The shadows shift in Luke’s periphery, and suddenly he’s alone no longer. Luke turns to see the intruder, letting the cool breeze guide him to the figure moving towards him in the semidarkness. Once he’s determined that he’s not about to be attacked, or at least not by an unfriendly face, he looks out towards the front of the cabin once more.

Luke closes his eyes, letting the creaking of wooden timbers and soft rhythm of footsteps tell him that his visitor is taking a seat next to him. Luke will answer their unspoken question soon enough, will carve out parts of him to make the other whole, but for now he lets himself bask in the blissful darkness of no one needing him for anything quite yet.

It is still here, it is quiet. The late hour must be getting to the Hermes kids below him; even the most rambunctious youth are murmuring about sleep and wanting to be silent for the time being. Luke can hear the insects whispering in the woods, the click of pincers, the swoosh of grass far below him. Luke knows what’s coming, but gods, if he doesn’t hate himself for wanting it so much.

Someone asks, “Can I come in?” Luke does not refuse. Does he ever?

It started earlier, all of this. Of course it did. Theirs is not a world of mere beginnings and endings. The past feeds the future, the present serves the past. You cannot pull one singular thread from a tapestry and expect to see the whole story.

Luke Castellan is used to people arriving unannounced to the Hermes cabin. Rarely has it been a place for solely his half-siblings, if it ever truly was. No, Hermes was the jack of all trades, so his home by extension must be the same as well. The bunks are always crowded, the floor always taken up by sleeping bags and curled forms of people who will never know who they truly are.

It used to make Luke mad. It still does, but that anger has been tainted with something else, a sort of grim sadness that tells him the bad times will just keep coming and coming. Every day, more unclaimed kids are sent here. If you get furious over every new arrival, the hate will never let you go. Sometimes, that’s more tempting than it should be.

There’s one unclaimed soul that Luke has never minded, though, and that would be Y/N L/N. They first came to camp a couple of years ago; no one knows when for sure, not even Luke or Y/N. Such details of such seemingly inconsequential arrivals are rarely written down in the great history books. Claimed kids have always been more important, especially those children of the more important gods. Some shadow of another indecision will just be given a camp t-shirt, a weapon, and an empty promise that they might, at some point, grow to know who they are.

So the Hermes cabin gained another soul to beat against its walls like a moth trapped inside past dark, who cares. Luke did. He still does, because Y/N wasn’t just another unclaimed demigod, they were his best friend. They plot late into the night about how they’d fix this place if they were ever in charge. Half of the scars on Luke’s sides are from all the times they were sparring together and Y/N managed to get through his defense. Luke heals some of those wounds with nectar or ambrosia, but not all. A couple are alright, to remind him of how much he’d bleed and die for Y/N if he ever got the chance.

They made a damn good team, anyone could see that. The jaded son of Hermes and the bitter unclaimed half-blood, the two people no one crosses, the only ones capable of pulling the other out of their own heads. Luke never knew what it was like to need someone until he met Y/N. He risked his life with Thalia, of course, he protected Annabeth, but he needs Y/N to breathe, to keep going. There are people who would despise such weakness, but Luke is not one of them. Not yet, at least. Not ever, so long as he’s in control of his own mind.

When Luke thinks about how much he hates the gods, when he drives himself half insane because of all the times the demigods needed their immortal parents and the gods never even bothered to claim them, he thinks about Y/N first of all.

He’s seen them cry a thousand tears for a parent that will never want them back, a sense of belonging that will never be theirs. Luke pulled Y/N close a hundred times, whispered a million worlds, and let his heart break in unison with theirs. They’ll get their revenge someday. Y/N will have their home, and even if that only ever ends up being Luke, it will be enough.

And then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t the end all, be all, of Y/N’s existence. A boy came to camp, sea-green eyes wide with shock and fear. His hair was dark, his conscience clean, and although Luke didn’t have a concrete reason to hate him, he did so anyway. Percy Jackson doesn’t know it yet, but he’s ruined everything.

The evidence was there soon enough. Capture the Flag has always been a favored pastime of the Camp Half-Blood demigods– who doesn’t love a chance to swing swords at your friends and enemies, then risk your neck in an attempt to wrangle victory and bragging rights in one go? Luke and Y/N have always made the best co-captains, and this time is no exception.

This time, though, Percy was on their team too, as another unclaimed kid stuck in Hermes cabin. Percy was the one who mysteriously has to face down a hellhound that somehow got into camp. No one looked to Luke as a source of the monster. No one suspected him. He made sure of it.

The result, though, he hadn’t counted on that. Percy is claimed, but the Jackson kid isn’t the only one with a glowing symbol hovering above their head. No, Luke looks to his side and realizes that Y/N, too, has been claimed. Y/N is a child of Poseidon as well. Looks like the god of the sea is only interested in claiming his children when he can multitask and get multiple at once, like checking off bothersome items on a to-do list.

Now is not the time for jokes, though. Y/N stares at him, eyes wide and reflecting the blue-green glow of being claimed, and Luke knows that it’s all over somehow. This is the sign Y/N’s been waiting for all this time, but it means that they’ll have to go to Poseidon’s cabin forever now, and just like that, all of their memories have come to a sudden halt.

They’re not done, of course. They’ll still be at the same camp, but nothing will ever truly be the same. No more of those late nights curled up together, whispering promises of a better future. No more working together on every cabinwide game or activity. No more eating meals together and exchanging jokes over bites of food. There is an immortal wedge driven between them now, as high and insurmountable as Luke has ever seen.

Y/N knows all this, and they look just as thunderstruck as he feels. Y/N looks like they want to run, and if it weren’t for the fact that the entire camp has now gathered around the two children of the sea god, Y/N might try it, too. Instead, they just stand there, staring at Luke like they’re hoping for a lifeline.

There’s nothing Luke can do, even if he hates himself for it. Instead, he sinks to one knee like the others, but he keeps his head up, eyes on Y/N until they’re physically separated by Chiron leading Percy and Y/N away. After that, Luke is left to stumble back home by himself, wondering why it hurts like a blade pierced between his ribs to notice that Y/N’s things have already been gathered and removed from the Hermes cabin.

Y/N and Percy sit by themselves at dinner that evening, as per tradition. Luke has never known Y/N to have a problem talking to people; seats by them are highly coveted at every meal, but you wouldn’t know that now. Y/N sits up perfectly straight, spine resolute and unflinching. Percy musters up the occasional effort to ask a question or two, but Y/N answers everything in monosyllabic words, making it clear that they want nothing to do with him.

Luke doesn’t get a chance to talk to them until the next day. Ever since the hellhound incident, Chiron has recommended that teams of demigods with more sword experience under their belts go search the woods for more monsters, just in case. Luke isn’t going to tell anyone that they don’t have to worry about that, obviously, but he isn’t about to pass up a chance to see Y/N.

He chooses Y/N as his patrol partner and they set out into the forest in search of certain death. Luke side eyes Y/N as they go, unable to stop himself from searching for clues that they’ve always been a child of Poseidon. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve got this familiar scent of salt and sea air, or a bit of wildness in their eyes that could only ever remind Luke of the untamed ocean. Then again, it could just be Poseidon amplifying those qualities in his elder child, trying to make it seem as if Y/N had his blessing all along. It wouldn’t surprise Luke if that were the case.

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to catch onto what he’s trying to do, though. “Spot any drastic differences in my appearance?” They ask, one brow raised, “what, did the old man dye my hair blue to match the waves?”

Luke snorts. “I don’t think anyone would be foolish enough to try that, even a god.”

Y/N laughs along with him, but their smile fades soon enough. “So? Am I completely and utterly different now that I’ve been claimed? All this time of waiting for it, surely something should have changed.”

Luke shakes his head decisively. “You’re still Y/N in every way.”

“No kidding,” Y/N says bitterly, “it’s because I was never important to Poseidon. Not really. He was already going to claim Percy and felt bad, so he got me too. He probably wants a pawn, someone he can sacrifice instead of Percy and feel appropriately big-hearted about it.”

Luke can’t say he’s surprised to hear Y/N so upset. It can’t feel good, knowing that the only reason your godly parent finally noticed you was because of someone else. “He could have done it so much earlier. The fact that he waited this long to claim you isn’t great, to say the least.”

Y/N’s lips curl with a sneer. “No, it’s just fantastic. I gave up on him, you know? Sometimes I liked to pretend that my claiming might happen, but we all knew the truth. I accepted my fate as an unclaimed demigod forever, and just when I was finally appreciating it, he goes and does this to me. Now I have to spend the rest of my days in this empty, gloomy cabin with a kid I don’t even know. I feel closer to the other Hermes kids and they’re not even my family. Hell, they are my family, just not by the godly side, but for some reason that pales in comparison with some stranger from Manhattan.”

Luke reaches out an arm to pull Y/N closer by their shoulders. “You’re not done with us Hermes kids, obviously. Cabin Eleven is still yours, even if you’re no longer unclaimed. If you get sick of Jackson, we’d be glad to have you back.”

“Even though you need all the empty space you can get?” Y/N asks doubtfully.

“Well,” Luke says as casually as he can, “we mainly just tell that to the others to scare them off. You’re one of us, Y/N.” He pauses, then forces out the last bit in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “You’re the only one I want there with me. I miss you.”

Y/N looks up at him, eyes soft. “I miss you too.”

“It’s stupid, though, isn’t it?” Luke mutters, “we’re at the same camp, I can see you whenever.”

“It’s not the same, though,” Y/N muses, “I might take you up on that offer, though. Just warning you.”

“I look forward to it,” Luke promises.

They talk for a while longer about sword fighting practice and demigod rivalries and other nonsense. Even after they go back to their respective activities, though, Luke can’t fight a pang in his chest. Y/N isn’t his anymore, not in the way that they used to belong to each other in a way that only misfits do. He’s Hermes, they’re Poseidon, and times will never be the same again.

Luke has always liked the relentless babble of the Hermes cabin, but today is a different story. Instead of washing away his troubles on an endless stream of chatter, it only serves to grate against his nerves. Luke waits until no one is watching, then pulls himself out of a nearby window and up to the roof in one swift movement. No one sees him go, no one will follow. At last, he can be alone.

Or, he’s alone until someone touches down on the roof. Luke sits there, legs swinging over the edge, and shuts his eyes. He can stretch this moment out into infinity while he’s waiting for Y/N to cross the roof to sit next to him. The goodbyes never come if the hellos never do, either.

Y/N places their hand on his shoulder, warm and steady as always. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Luke murmurs back. As if he would ever let them go.

The lights are off when he slips inside once more. It’s a blessing, as no one notices Y/N follow him in. Hermes kids are usually quiet, best at sneaking around. It’s a trait Y/N has clearly picked up from him. Luke tries not to let it go to his head. Usually, he hates any evidence that his father has impacted him in some way, but for some reason he doesn’t mind it in Y/N.

It’s quiet in the cabin, so this is no time for conversation. Instead, Luke makes his way over to his bunk, holding out his arms for Y/N to join him. The night passes in the same fashion as many before it: the two of them intertwined like thread, heads against shoulders and legs together. Y/N falls asleep first, but Luke stays awake a while longer, cursing this world for not giving him what he needs to live through it in peace.

This is the beginning of the end, he thinks. He thought that maybe getting claimed would ease Y/N’s anger, but it only ignited it. That makes Luke furious in turn. If the gods are only going to use Y/N as a pawn, well, Luke will clearly have to stop them before they try anything of the sort. None of the immortals care about their children, but Luke does. Luke always will.

He makes himself a promise before his eyes shut that night, even swears it on the River Styx. Their revenge will come. The gods will know their names, and not just as tools to claim when the time is right. Luke will make the Olympians do right by him, by Y/N, by all of them. They have no idea what’s coming.

pjo tag list: @w1shes43, @fadedver

#luke castellan #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan oneshot #pjo #pjo imagines #pjo x reader #pjo oneshot #pjo luke #pjo luke imagines #pjo luke x reader #pjo luke oneshot

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