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dinogoofymutated · 16 days

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Plz tell me you’re doing a part 2/continuation of you nsfw nightcrawler(only if you don’t want to of course). I just have got to read about Kurt returning the favor cus I just know he’s going to be a little teaser/pleaser 🤭 ya know. Kurt has been one of my first loves since I was a kid and I’m so glad the nightcrawler fandom has come out of hiding because it feels nice to be in a place that gets you😌

NSFW!Nightcrawler/AFAB!reader - part 2!

Don't forget to read part 1!

Ask and you shall receive!! You and @the-girl-who-walks-with-faeries both requested a part 2 so here it is!! I hope this is okay, I know the original was completely GN but I wasn't sure how to do that with this one!

Also, I know we all love our goofy furball but this is a daily reminder that Kurt has so much depth to his character. It's really easy for us as a Fandom to characterize him as a happy-go-lucky ball of constant sunshine but he's much more than that!- Tis all. Peace ✌️

TW: MDNI!!!! Smut, fingering, PNV sex. Little bit of teasing. Lots of petnames. Sorry for the shitty German translations. Creampie.

Kurt used to be really self conscious about his hands when the two of you first got together. It's not that he thought you found them disgusting, in fact, he knew it was quite the opposite.

He was just worried that he wasn't able to prepare you properly. Especially since they're so wide set on his hand. Going two at a time wouldn't be comfortable for you or him.

Eventually, he did become more confident on himself, especially when he tried other ways of foreplay, making sure you're not only prepared, but fully sated before the main course.

“Please, let me return the favor, my love.”

Kurt's hands teasingly rubbed the crook of your thighs, caressing the sensitive inner skin. You can't help but let out a little whine as he slides his hands closer to your lips, only to slide away again. He chuckles, and you faintly hear his tail swaying back and forth against the bed.

"Kurt, don't tease." You softly chide, relaxing further into his chest. He leans over to kiss your cheek, trailing down to your neck sensually. You sigh as he licks and nips at the soft skin.

"Apologies, Schatz. Seems I can't help myself." He muses. You gasp as a fingertip grazes across your clit, teasing at first, before he adds a little more pressure. You let out a noise of pleasure and contentment at the sensation. Kurt's other hand reaches up to caress your breast, thumb gently brushing across your nipple. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as the finger on your clit dips down, teasing your slit as he gathers the sickness pooling there and drags it back up to your clit.

"All this, for me?" Kurt hums, his canines grazing the crook of your neck. You nodd in response, unable to think clearly enough to respond to him. He chuckles again, turning your head to pull you into a deep kiss. You feel one of his fingers teasing your slit again, sliding in rather smoothly. The action causes you to gasp into his mouth, and Kurt takes the invitation. His tongue caresses the inside of your mouth, keeping you rather occupied as he fingers your cunt. His kiss leave you breathless, gasping for air when you separate. His face is just as flushed as your own as his thumb wipes the spit from your mouth. You stick your tongue out to meet his thumb, licking the pad of the digit before sucking it into your mouth teasingly. Kurt can't take his eyes off of you, cursing quietly at the action. The curl of his finger inside of you causes you to release it, moaning as he touches you just right.

"Kurt?" He sucks in a breath at the sound of your voice.

"Yes, liebling?" The nickname causes a flutter in your chest even now, sprawled out across his lap in the throes of pleasure.

"Fuck me?" He's speechless for a moment, heated gaze keeping your own. He can't kelp but lean in and kiss you again, his tail wrapping around your waist to simply have you fully encompasses in his hold.

"...I will do more than just that, my love." He whispers once he gathers himself enough to speak. He gently turns you around, kissing you over and over as he lays you against the bed. His hands trail down your arms. Gathering your wrists and bringing them upwards to press kisses to both palms. His eyes narrow as he catching a glimpse of the bruise forming on one of your wrists, and a heated gaze turns to concern.

"Did I do this?" He asks, tail unwinding from around your waist, like he's worried he'd squeeze you to tight (again). You don't want to lie to him, but you don't want to tell him either, knowing that the thought of hurting you while caught up in his own pleasure is more than a nightmare for him. Instead you pull him down to kiss you. He sighs into the kiss, caressing the bruise before he moves onto his elbows to hold himself above you in the bed. He’s hard against you when you grind up against his pelvis, the action making him gasp. He separates from the kiss reluctantly as you begin to line him up, notching the head of his cock against your slit. He stops you before you try to take him in.

"You stop me if that ever happens again." Kurt says, a little more strictly than you've heard him speak to you before.

"Okay." You nodd at him. "I promise." He smiles at you, brushing the hair out of your face before he begins to push into you, slowly. You're breath gets caught in your throat as he does so, sinking into you inch by inch. Kurt’s face is scrunched up in pleasure, those beautiful sharp canines biting into his lip before he buries his face in your neck.

Nothing has ever felt as perfect as he does when he's finally bottomed out inside of you. He sits for a moment, letting you adjust to his length before your patting his shoulders, begging him to move. He does so, starting slowly, thrusting deep into you as he pours his love into your body. You're doing your best to keep quiet, but it's hard when Kurt feels so perfect inside of you. Each thrust into you sends another flicker of pleasure to your stomach, already feeling so close.

Kurt himself isn't fairing much better, his whines and noises of pleasure being a sound you want to memorize until the day you die. Every once in a whole he'll murmur words of praise and love and appreciation for you, your body, your soul. He's immersed in the depths of you, sinking into your cushiony walls faster and faster as he begins to reach his own peak once again. One particular thrust is a little shaprer than the others, leading you to call out his name.

"Pssst. wir müssen ruhig sein. Liebe." He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. His strokes become faster as he gets closer and closer, not too far behind you.

"Kurt! I'm- ah... I..."

"Ich weiß, Schatz. Hah... ich bin bei dir." The knot of pleasure inside you snaps, and snapps hard. Kurt groans as he feels your walls fluttering around him, sucking him in. The sensation is too much. He thrusts inside you a few more times before he's reaches his own peak, cumming inside you in warm spurts. He twitches inside you, letting out small whines as he rides through the waves of pleasure.

Kurt collapses partially on top of you when he's done, pulling out gently and panting as the two of you try to catch your breath. His face is flushed when you look over at him, hair disheveled with his eyes blissfully closed. Your heart skips a few beats at the sight, and you find yourself reaching over to caress his face. His eyes blink open, and he smiles in a way that makes your heart stop. He holds your hand to his face, brushing his thumb across the skin of your knuckles.

"I missed you so much." You murmur, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. His smile would spread wider if it could, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

"We should make up for all the lost time then, love. How long do you think it will take for the others to notice us missing?"

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men headcannons #x men smut #x men 97 smut #x men 97 x reader #nightcrawler headcannons #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler smut #kurt wagner headcannons #kurt wagner smut #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler

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reythenerdypisces · 2 months

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things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread

Part 2: Sea of Monsters

there is a lot this time.

this book is so short and it makes up for the length by being hilarious:

I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if I were ever on the verge of death - plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp.

Tyson froze. "Pony!" he cried in total rapture. Chiron turned looking offended. "I beg your pardon?"

"Um..." I said. "Would this be the super-dangerous prophecy that has me in it, but the gods have forbidden you to tell me about it? Nobody answered. "Right," I muttered. "Just checking."

"Uh, I like Hercules." "Why?" "Well, because he had rotten luck. Even worse than mine. It makes me feel better."

Annabeth looked at me. "We have to get out of here." "You think I want to be in the girls' restroom?" "I mean the ship, Percy! We have to get off the ship."

Tyson was terrified of them. All throughout the tour, he insisted Annabeth hold his hand, which she didn't look too thrilled about.

"Then why do the gods even let me live? It would be safer to kill me." "You're right." "Thanks a lot."

A minute later, Annabeth hit a slippery patch of moss and her foot slipped. Fortunately, she found something else to put it against. Unfortunately, that something was my face.

As Luke was raising his sword to rally his troops, a centaur shot a custom-made arrow with a leather boxing glove on the end. It smacked Luke in the face and sent him crashing into the swimming pool. and a few moments later: He [Luke] raised his sword, but got smacked in the face with another boxing glove arrow, and sat down hard in a deck chair. Luke can't catch a break from those boxing arrows, it's the funniest thing

2. also so much baby percabeth!! they’re so cute

She'd [Annabeth] emailed me the picture after spring break, and every once in a while I'd look at it just to remind myself she was real and Camp Half-Blood hadn't just been in my imagination. the fact that he printed out Annabeth's photo?

Annabeth punched him in the nose and knocked him flat, "And you," she told him, "lay off my friend." her standing up for Percy is adorable

I mean she [Annabeth] looked good. Really good. I probably would've been tongue-tied if I could say anything except reet, reet, reet.

She [Annabeth] started to sob - I mean horrible, heartbroken sobbing. She put her head on my shoulder and I held her. Fish gathered to look at us - a school of barracudas, some curious marlins. Scram! I told them. They swam off, but I could tell they went reluctantly. I swear I understood their intentions. They were about to start rumours flying around the sea about the son of Poseidon and some girl at the bottom of Siren Bay. number 1. the way percy is always there for her, number 2. the gossiping fish?? I love it

The look in his [Grover] eyes told me something was terribly wrong. Annabeth had been on guard duty that night, protecting the Fleece. If something had happened -he’s admirably protective, of not just annabeth, but all his friends and I love to see it… exhibit b:

"But if I [Grover] get in trouble again, you'll be in danger, Percy! You could die!" "If you get in trouble again, I want to know about it. And I'll come help you again G-man. I wouldn't have it any other way." I adore their friendship.

3. other mentions:

"I'm Thalia," the girl said. "Daughter of Zeus." what. an. ending. I still remember how floored I was when I first read this wow

the mention of Hylla got me so excited

am I the only one who forgot Percy could control the sailboat? like the flying ropes and whatnot

I also completely forgot about his watch shield!

I'll be back for part 3 shortly! :)

#sea of monsters #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo series #rick riordan #percabeth #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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flowersandbigteeth · 4 days

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I think I need a part 2 of the baby creatures because its absolutely ADORABLE!! What about driders, centaurs, orcs, and merfolk?

Thinking about monster babies is so soothing ^_^

The first one is here

👇🏽

Merfolk are born with little tails that take time to gain the strength needed to get them around, so their parents mostly carry them as infants. They are born with an extra fat layer, making them extra chubby, but also to keep them warm in the deep ocean. When they are old enough to swim on their own, most baby merfolk prefer to swim around in a school so they can play and for safety. They have an inherent understanding of the vastness of the ocean and prefer to play near their parents. While they are young, their parents prefer to keep them away from the shallows as there is danger of being spotted by a human or reef shark. Instead, they prefer to keep them in caves, floating kelp, or high sea grass where they can hide easily.

Centaur babies, like humans, take time to develop. Though their bodies are capable of carrying weight when they are born, their brains aren't developed enough to put two and two together, so they are carried for the first six months of their lives. For the first few months, they tend to stay in the fetal position, snuggling in nests or on their parent's back, until their vision and core strength develop. However, once they are on their four feet, they are tiny menaces. They have all the energy and good sense (none) of a toddler but with four strong legs to carry them where they want to go. It's the job of the entire herd to keep them out of trouble. They are easily startled and will retreat to a nearby adult if scared, but they love physical activity. Since they take so well to athletics, centaurs start training their toddlers as soon as they can walk to keep them occupied. Their first training is usually small gathering expeditions, where a few centaurs will escort all of the children to the forest to learn what mushrooms, berries, and nuts are edible. That's followed by runs that grow increasingly longer to learn scouting and camouflage techniques so that they can take their turn on patrol when they are old enough.

Driders are born with their eyes closed and a soft carapace. Their parents generally keep them in a web nursery while their skin hardens, and they eventually open their eyes. Young driderlings are precocious and curious, driven by their natural hunting instincts to explore. When they are small, they can't yet weave or chew through their parent's webs, but they enjoy observing whatever their parents happen to be doing. They are even happier if they are allowed to help. It takes them a bit to obtain the grace and stealthiness normally associated with Driders. When they are little, they are very clumsy and need help from their parents to figure out which leg goes where. They come of the age to be relatively independent when they are able to escape their nurseries, meaning their teeth and claws have developed as well as spinnerets to help them get wherever they want to go. They are astute students when it comes to weaving, writing, and hunting, with a natural lean towards perfectionism. When they are older, they tend to be more solitary. While they enjoy drider society, they are driven to create safe spaces within it for themselves and can be alone for long periods of time without a problem.

Orc babies are expressive and needy. They crave physical touch and interaction to keep them engaged or they get bored and naughty. They need lots of toys to develop their motor skills and learn to crawl earlier than human babies from their excitement to follow their parents around. They hate being in their cradle unless they are asleep and prefer to be in the same room with their parents while they work. They take well to other Orcs in their family, excited to meet new people. Orc society is cooperative, so they learn at a young age to depend on others and seek out company. In a well-guarded Orc village, little Orcs are allowed to roam around as they please as soon after they learn to walk because the village works together to keep them safe. Older siblings or cousins feel a responsibility to keep an eye on the little ones, and often, young Orcs will form little packs to run around the village collecting cookies from indulgent mothers and grandmothers. Little Orcs enjoy crafts, group games, and getting into mischief together. Orc parents encourage them to play independently, developing relationships that will become more and more important as they grow.

Bluesky -- Carrd -- Commissions -- Instagram -- Threads -- Subscribestar

#monster canon #headcanon #monster headcanon #admit speaks #sweet asks #orc #centaur #mermaid #merfolk #drider #orc headcanon #drider headcanon #merfolk headcanon

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sanjoongie · 1 month

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𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚏 & 𝙽𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚣

🐍Pairing: Snake Familiar! Seonghwa x Witch! Reader (f) x Cat Familiar! San

🐈‍⬛️Genre: Fluff, angst, adventure

💧Au: witch au, supernatural au, fantasy au, familiars au, shapeshifter au, magical au

🐍Trope: savior love

🐈‍⬛️Rating: PG-13, MDNI

💧Warnings: mentions of familiars bonded against their will, escaping from an oppressed warlock, magical abuse

🐍Word Count: 2,147

🐈‍⬛️Summary: when a seemingly random cat and snake show up at your front door, you're pulled into a whirlwind story that poses you as the hero for the two

💧A/N: to my dearest Haru @stardragongalaxy. I hope your birthday can be a good one. You are my strength when I am feeling down. That's apparent with this tiny plot bunny that's been alive between us for almost a year now. Floof and Noodz have always been there to comfort me and that's because of you. I'm finally breathing some life into that story so that we can both share in the comfort of them. Happy Birthday!

You stepped out of your humble cottage by the sea and breathed in deeply of the salty air. You stretched for a moment, enjoying the tranquil morning before heading towards your tide pool. Inside was coral, kelp and mini sea creatures. You frowned when you saw your seahorse in the top right quadrant. Why did your tidepool project that you were going on an adventure when the most you planned to do was shuck some mollusks?

Then you saw the most peculiar thing while peering over the stone wall of your land. A very black cat was making its way over the black sand dunes surrounding your home. You thought perhaps he was lost but his path appeared very determined. Must be someone’s familiar out and about. You confirmed such when you spotted a pink collar around its neck.

Satisfied that there was nothing wrong with the world, you went to your shed to acquire your sturdy boots and some strips of cloth to tie back your sleeves and skirts, and grabbed a basket you had weaved of dry grass.

You made your way to the cliffs that always had a good amount of mussels clinging to the rock, swinging your basket and humming a pirate’s ditty under your breath. Thinking of how you also needed to resupply your storage cupboard of the pretty black mussel shells, you aimed to pick big ones, hoping that the insides provided for a good supper later as well.

Oddly enough, the black cat you had spotted early chose a spot high above you on the rocks, watching you with dark eyes. You tipped your floppy hat in greeting and went back to your work. You found an awful lot of mussels, huge ones, a better haul than you had ever acquired and started to get suspicious.

You stared at the black cat, unblinking and licking its paw, a little too casually. Every witch knew black cats were bad luck. You froze in alarm when the pink collar around the cat’s neck began to move but that’s when you realized that it wasn’t a collar. In fact, it was a tiny pink snake that had wound itself safely and securely around the cat’s neck. It slithered until its small head was on top of the black cat’s, tongue slithering out, scenting the air around it.

Curious but well aware the pair were none of your business, you made your way back to your cottage. You worked on the outside water pump, luring fresh water to wash most of the salt water from the mussels you had gathered. You shrieked and fell on your ass when the same black cat from the rock’s was suddenly on top of your pump.

The black cat raised its hair and hissed back at you. “Well, that’s not a very nice hello,” You muttered under your breath.

The snake and cat exchanged a look. Suddenly, with a poof of golden starred smoke, the black cat changed into a human. “You’re the one that screamed because of me,” the man pouted when he spoke.

The snake was still in snake form, around the black-cat-now-man’s neck still. He was dressed in a flowing white shirt and tight black pants but he didn’t like he was in the best of shape, the clothes quite shabby and bags under his eyes. His dark hair was long and he shook it out of his face. He sported a chain that connected from his ear to his lip, piercings in both parts there. He was quite handsome. You shook your head. That was besides the point.

You brushed yourself off of sand as you stood up. “And you, sir, are on my land, without permission.”

The man stood a bit straighter at the formality. “Mistress Witch, with your permission, my companion and I are seeking refuge. Would you allow us a day and a night on your land and in your cottage? Allow us to break bread and drink merrily at your table?”

You sighed. It was a harmless but formal request. The fact that he had responded in kind to your language meant that he was definitely a familiar and knew of the laws that governed all the witches and warlocks.

“A day and a night is granted,” You agreed. You sent a dirty look at your tide pool and you could have sworn your mini dolphin sassily flipped in the water in response.

The black cat introduced himself as San and the snake was Seonghwa. San immediately hauled the collection of mussels inside, aiding in shucking them while you chattered about a few recipes you contemplated cooking them into.

The silence lulled and your eyes were drawn to the sparkly eyes of the snake around San’s neck. “Will your companion be joining us?” You wondered.

San ran a fond finger over Seonghwa’s scales. “He’s…shy. He’ll probably stay in his snake form for our visit.”

Seonghwa raised his head off of San’s collarbone and flickered his tongue at you. Then he slithered down San’s shirt, into his sleeve, and stuck his head out from the cuff of San’s sleeve. His tongue flickered again and then he looked back at San.

“Seonghwa says you taste like good magic,” San supplied.

You laughed abruptly. “Do I?”

San frowned, unsure if you were mocking him or not. “You could say we’re not used to that.”

You tilted your head. “Wait. You’re truly seeking safety? You weren’t just offering a formality?”

San scratched the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. “It’s just for a bit. We won’t inconvenience you longer than we agreed on.”

If San wasn’t going to supply the reason for needing safety, you weren’t going to pry. You’d had your fair share of people passing through. So you cooked up the mussels in a wonderful white wine and ate in companionable silence with San. You were about to wash up the dishes but San insisted on doing that too. He was quite polite for a guest.

Then as day turned into evening, and there was only the snap and pop of the fire while you sat in front of it, you found yourself lulled into a sense of warmth by the fire and fell asleep. You woke up to shouting from San and it was not a nice way to wake up.

“Seonghwa! Stop eating that right now!” San protested.

You blinked your eyes clearly and found that Seonghwa was three quarters of the way through chomping down on your imbued narwhal horn that acted as your staff. You stood up quickly, magic sparkling from your fingertips.

San stood in front of Seonghwa immediately to stop you. “Wait, I know how this looks!”

“Like I offered you safety stupidly and now you’re stealing my staff!” You growled.

At this point, there was simply the tip left to consume and you took a step forward. “Either he stops or I’m about to suck you both into such a strong, magical maelstrom you won’t know up from down.”

“He can’t stop once he’s started, I’m sorry,” San apologized, “We’ll help you replace your staff.”

You watched with a heavy heart as the pink snake finished consuming your staff and shrunk back to his teeny tiny size. Then he slithered up San’s leg and found his place back around San’s neck. You narrowed your eyes at the offending creature.

“That staff has been passed down from generation to generation. I use it to push away big storms or to help wrecked ships! There’s no way--”

“There’s a warlock after us who is looking to suck away all our power for himself!” San shouted suddenly.

It took you a moment to process this information and still it didn’t quite hit home. “What?”

San sighed heavily and took a seat in one of your wonderfully constructed, ‘filled with sea-foam’ chairs. He wiggled until he was comfortable and then began. He spun a tale of how Seonghwa and he were powerful familiars. They had not bonded with any witch or warlock. Then one day they met a warlock with a charming grin. He introduced himself as Hongjoong. The warlock was indeed powerful, but with a familiar already. The hawk Hongjoong held on his arm was Yunho but he didn’t look good; his feathers weren’t healthy and Seonghwa sensed something wrong with the hawk. San and Seonghwa both declined to agree to a bond with Hongjoong but as it turned out, Hongjoong didn’t need them to agree. He was capable of twisting familiars to be his without an agreement. The two had been fleeing from Hongjoong since they fought with the warlock.

“Is that why Seonghwa ate my staff?” You demanded tiredly.

San nodded. “I’m sorry. It was like an instinct for him. I had fallen asleep too after the yummy meal you made us.” He sent you an apologetic smile.

You stood up, unable to sit down any longer with the energy inside of you. “I’ll have to cast a spell. Perhaps a magical fog to suppress your auras. That will keep you hidden for a bit, at least. But you’ll have to stay here.”

San frowned at you in confusion. “Why would you help us? Especially when Seonghwa just ate your staff?”

“I… I will not stand for anyone to be bullied,” You said adamantly, “This Hongjoong must be stopped.”

San raised his hand to run a reassuring finger down Seonghwa’s head but found that there was no snake around his neck. You both looked around in alarm but as it turned out, Seonghwa had slithered to your chair and was hovering on the arm of it. You inched your hand forward, pulling back when Seonghwa’s head reared back, but when you offered your hand palm up, Seonghwa slithered until he was coiled up in the palm of your hand.

You brought him up to your face, still not pleased with your staff being eaten. “You, sir, are going to have to do a lot of apologizing.”

Seonghwa, whether in response or simply to taste if your magic was still good, flickered his tongue out at your nose, almost kissing it. “Seonghwa!” San scolded him.

You glanced towards San. “Did he… say anything?”

“He says the narwhal horn tasted yummy and he was wondering if you had more for him to eat,” San admitted.

You couldn't help but laugh despite the situation. You shook your finger at Seonghwa. “No more magical item consuming, please. If you want me to help you with Hongjoong, I’m going to need all the help I can get!”

You went outside, about to pass Seonghwa back to San but instead, the snake wound himself around your wrist instead. You lifted your eyebrows up at San but he shrugged, not sure what Seonghwa was intending.

You raised your arms and called upon your powers to summon a fog that could cloak everything it touched. The fog appeared along your ankles and swirled around the sand until finally you couldn't see the sea or anything outside of the limits of your land. When you were done, you looked down to see Seonghwa was shining, iridescent and neon pink. You looked over to San, whose eyes were now shining a bright purple. You checked your inner well of magic and it was like you hadn't cast a very large spell at all.

“Did you help me?” You took a shot in the dark.

“It’s the least we could do,” San smiled, showing some dimpled cheeks.

That night you slept in your hammock, hanging up a spare for San in the sunroom of your cottage. But when you woke up the next morning, from a tickle on your arm, you found that San had turned back into a cat and had curled up on your chest. You stretched for a yawn, holding San very carefully and depositing him into the hammock where he remained slumbering as a cat.

You moved into the kitchen and found a very tall, pink-haired man standing there. He turned around and shot a pink beam of magic at you, which you very quickly ducked out of the way.

“Oh--no! I’m so sorry! That was instinct! I didn’t mean to harm you!” The large man’s eyes began to shake in worry.

“At least I didn’t--” Your mouth shut when you saw the hole that was now in your fireplace. “Oh, Seonghwa.”

The black cat bound into the kitchen, meowing loudly and entwining around your ankles in comfort. Seonghwa smiled painfully, “We’ll help you with that too.”

You rubbed your temples in worry and tried to smile back. It was going to be a bit before the two of them trusted you but perhaps a few fumbles on the way would build a rapport between the three of you. Only time would tell and you hoped you had plenty of that before Hongjoong descended on you all.

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez fluff #topaz's work #ღatz #park seonghwa fluff #choi san fluff #atz fluff #san fluff #seonghwa fluff #sanhwa fluff #haru 🌌

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monstersandmaw · 9 months

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Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too.

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’.

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons.

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be.

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man.

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was.

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

Next chapter ->

Well, what did you think of it so far? I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it, as always!

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#selkie #bucca #polyamory #polyamorous romance #poly story #o #historical fantasy #shifter romance #poly shifter romance #18th century romance #shapeshifter romance #m/m/f

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monster-slxt · 8 months

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Been playing a game that's re-awoken my love of merfolk and now I can't stop thinking about being lured into the ocean by a siren song and kept as a cute little incubator/pet for a group of merfolk.

They need something soft and compliant to keep their eggs safe, and the powers of a siren call really do make humans the easiest choice. So they lure me to the edge of the dock with that beautiful voice as it worms itself into my head and turns me sweet and obedient for them. How happily I'd strip and sink into the cold ocean waters, accept the magic kiss that would allow me to breathe water and forever keep me from returning to land.

The group can barely wait to get me back to their underwater house, cooing over their cute new human and chittering in their strange tongue I'm not meant to understand about how much cuter I'll be all swollen with eggs. The minute we enter the underwater cave the leader, the one who called me to my new home with her voice, jumps on me. Quickly working me open just enough to take her ovipositor before thrusting deep into me. The eggs are quick to follow, and I'm so drunk off the siren song I couldn't care about anything other than how good this all feels. She pumps me full with so many eggs my stomach swells, all while the other coo over me and call dibs for who gets me next. They take turns pumping me full of eggs and thick sticky cum until I look overdue with twins.

They keep me like a pet, showing off how obedient I am, how well I took to my masters song, to other groups of merfolk. Some even have their own human, similarly huge with eggs, and we makeout for our owners enjoyment. They make sure to keep me well trained too, always fucking me or shoving fingers into my holes. I don't know how long it goes on like this, too lost in the haze of pleasure I've been in since that first night.

But then something changes, a deep need to push overtakes me. My whines and groans alert my owners who rush over to fuss over me while I push out dozen and dozens of jelly eggs, no doubt far bigger than when they were inserted. The leader pulls me into her chest and holds me as I push, and the others carefully catch the eggs and gather them in a kelp bed. It takes hours for it to finally finish, and when it does the mermaids are right there to knock me up again.

#monsterfucking #monster smut #preg #ovi

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assistedbytherats · 1 month

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Me, praying: if I’m being called by a deity, I’m so sorry but I have a long history of being oblivious/in denial. I’m inviting you to be as bold as you have to be to get my attention.

This bird showing up on my path to campus:

Me: wow I’ve never seen that type of bird before, usually birds this big don’t show up in the city streets unless they’re those ducks at the park.

Also me: I know I just asked for signs, but this probably doesn’t mean anything, I’ll hold off blogging about it too. (I’d started drafting a post about it potentially being a sign, but ended up deleting it.)

I get to where I’m heading and-

Me: someone was probably feeding them. Its funny that they’re all gathered there though.

And then on the walk back

My friend has informed me that these are juvenile southern black backed gulls, also called kelp gulls. Apparently they’re considered pests, so ofc I adore them unconditionally.

#anyways #I ignored the point of the post didnt i #you get the idea #lets hope I finally do as well #still unsure but hey #I’ve got a lot of love and support #from this beautiful community #so im feeling emboldened #hellenic pagan #paganblr #pagan #helpol #hermes deity #hellenic polytheism #gay pagan #paganism #baby pagan

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pansear-doodles · 9 months

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Translating Rain World food to Filipino cuisine

#9 Budol Fight

Only created in large gatherings, special occasions and long expeditions! A feast setup idea that was shared by Scavengers. Everything the slugcats gather is put in a pile on top of a large leaf or dead kelp monster for extra flavor. The feast always includes steamed corn rice, and the food can be anything ranging from grilled meat to moist fruits.

Slugcat Remarks: Gourmand: This is especially convenient for when you want to feed a whole colony! It may just be a pile of food on a leaf but there's sort of specialness to it.

Artificer: Hunter always scarfs down a good portion of the Budol Fight, so sometimes I have to really restrain them. I can't blame them though- this shit's good to eat with friends and family.

Monk: I usually sit close to the favorite sides of the feast!

#rain world #rainworld #fanart #rainworld downpour #rain world downpour #my art #food

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sanscat0414 · 3 months

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Words

Hawks x Depressed Reader

Warning: including Self harm so if you’re sensitive to that please don’t read this.

Note: if your experience depression and/or SH tendencies please as for help form others. Remember you are loved and appreciated.

Masterlist

‘Useless, A word that perfectly describes me’ you thoughts.

One

Two

Three

Four

Numbers you counted as you slide the blade across your thighs. Thighs that so many said was ugly. They said “you’re too fat. You should lose weight.” “You don’t deserve to be with hawks,”

Words that hit you harder than any punch. Words that give hurt to you. Nothing matters but him. Nothing matters to you more than him. You want him to be happy but you see yourself as a burden when you where the vary thing that kelp him sane. You didn’t know that.

The moment you saw that crimson feather knocking that blade away. You knew you screwed up, you let him see the last part you never wanted him to see. He stood there in shock of what infront of him. His golden eyes that always wad filled with a hope and a shine of happiness, now dull and filled with hurt and worry.

You said nothing as you just started cleaning up like nothing had happened. It was only a matter of a few moments that he would leave you, like everyone else did. To your surprise a hand gently put your actions to a halt. Hawks got on his knees not caring for the blood that was spilled, you blood. The fact that is was yours made him sick to his stomach. He held you, pushing your head gently into his chest as one hand on the back of your head and the other on your waist.

“Please say something, Anything. Please don’t do this agian please.”

A man you knew to be have always worn a glided mask crumbling at the sight of you hurting yourself.

Empty . You felt empty as he held on to you desperately. He was horrified at that fact he could loose you. He didn’t want to let go. You said nothing as silence filled the room.

A moment after he let you go, he didn’t say anything but help cleaned you up. You didn’t rejected him but in your mind it only cemented that fact that you were nothing but a burden to him.

Once he finished he guide you to your shared bedroom. Once agian holding you as he desperately wanted to know why you did what you did.

“Kid, why? Why hurt yourself?” Was all he was able to say.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“YES IT DOES! You matter. Whatever made you do this to yourself.. I want to protect you from it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I love you and I don’t want to see you do that to yourself so please let me in and let me help you. Like the way you did it when my life went to hell. When I was in my darkest moment you pulled me out. So let me in.”

“You should just leave me.”

“IM NOT LEAVING YOU LIEK THIS!!” Hawks raised his voice.

This was a surprise to you no matter the argument he never raise his voice at you, not until now.

“Just leave me… like everyone else did.” You said looking away. You couldn’t face him not like this.

“I’m here now, aren’t I kid? I’m not leaving even if you pry me away. I want to protect you, I want to be someone you can lean on. What kind of hero would I be if I let my beloved hurt herself.”

You said nothing.

“Please,______ I need you. I want you. I’m not going anywhere. “ he tightened his grip on you.

You finally gathered the courage to look towards him. It was you who hurt him. Seeing the hurt In eyes made you feel guilty.

You gently patted his golden locks “I’m sorry. Don’t be upset.”You look at him and gave him a small smile.

He knew all too well what your expression is. It was one he used often to cover his true feelings. One he could se straight through but Hawks didn’t understand why you were apologizing to him.

“It’s okay to not smile all the time. You can be real with me.” He said.

It was a saying all to familiar to you, words you offered as comfort when he need. Now those same words used on yourself. You dropped it after a moment, it wasn’t fair to him.

“Sometimes it’s just too much.” You said “when you feel like you don’t matter. All I am is someone’s problem. Someone useless the world doesn’t need. I’m not someone to be cried over . You shouldn’t have to worry about someone as useless, worthless and ug-“ he stopped you.

“Don’t belittle yourself like that. You’re so much more. You always bring joy to those around you. You’re kind and always thoughtful of others. You’re the most prettiest and compassionate person I know. You’re nothing close to being useless.” He said looking straight into your eyes, “whenever you have those thoughts agian, come to me. Let me show you just how great of a person you are, love. My sweet babybird.”

Your eyes widen as you hear his word. Words that had never been used to describe you so sincerely. Words that hits you like a warm ray of sunshine. Something about Hawks’s ernsty hit you hard, harder than any puncn, kick, or mean words. You couldn’t stop your own tears from flowing. Your hands raised up to grab him and hold him just as tightly as he held you. You sobbed letting all those years to frustration and self loathing out. He held you, rubbed your back and wrapped his wings around you. Shielding you from the rest of the world.

“I love you.” He said “don’t ever doubt that.”

The both of you stayed like that for a hour or so. Form then on Hawks was even more careful around you and always keeping and eye on you. Hawks never wanted to catch you like that ever again. He praise you at every chance he got, took you out went you felt down.

You started your healing with hawks, he was with you all the way.

#bnha hawks #keigo #keigo takami #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader mha #bnha hawks x reader #hawks fluff #hawks mha #bnha keigo #hawks x yn #angst to comfort #my hero academia #winged hero hawks #mha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n angst #hawks #hawks x reader angst #boku no hero academia hawks

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animalsalvationassociation · 6 months

Text

Welcome to the A.S.A.

A.K.A. The Animal Salvation Association

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

Without humanity to reign, this Earth is ruled by animals alone. From the beginning of this planet animals began to evolve, some evolving faster than others. Many species decided to stay where they were only developing based on their environment while others began to build civilization, create technology, and slowly over time create a truly inhabitable planet.

A professor by the name of Marin Kelp created what is known as the A.S.A. —

The Animal Salvation Association.

An international organization that ensures the safety of every animal on Earth. And from this collective, branches were formed . . .

The Octonauts

C.L.A.D.E. - The Covert League of Animal Detective Experts

Safari Solutions - Nicknamed: The S.S. Jade

R.S.R. - Ranger Search and Recovery

S.O.S. - Safegaurding Our Society

Together these branches protect the world and anything that might harm it, hoping one day to create a peaceful planet with no war and no pollution. A place where everyone can be equal.

Of course not everyone wishes to be subjected to such a cause. Some believe that it is oppressive, and would rather cause harm than be safe from it.

So, many companies have begun to fight against the A.S.A., carrying on through secret gatherings and creating organizations. From there, gangs began to appear as well as Bounty Hunter administrations.

It’s now more important than ever that the branches of the A.S.A. protect not only the world’s animal populations and the environment, but themselves as well.

Have an Ask or a Question? Want to add to the conversation? Go ahead and message me or even comment on my posts! Who knows maybe I’ll make fanart of it~ (and it’ll help with the complete and utter brain rot that is this fandom’s nonexistent lore)

Illustration Time: 26hrs 52min

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

#octonauts #octonauts fanart #captain barnacles #octonauts oc #Octonauts the ASA #Octonauts story

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rippleclan · 1 month

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RippleClan: Moon 32

Rustshade and Downstar see each other in a different light and have become mates.

[Image ID: Rustshade and Downstar face their living children. Under Rustshade, it says + MATE: DOWNSTAR. Under Downstar, it says + MATE: RUSTSHADE.]

“This can’t continue,” Rustshade grumbled.

“What are you talking about?” Mousepaw huffed. The pair shared a meal Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt claimed would become a culinary staple of RippleClan some day; salted, kelp-wrapped meat. It was nothing like any of the other Clans made, and Rustshade wasn’t too sure if he liked it, despite the positive feedback from the rest of the Clan. Then again, his mind was not on food that day. Instead, his eyes were stuck on Downstar’s den.

“I didn’t mean to say that aloud,” Rustshade gulped, hiding his expression in his kelp wrap. “Just some private concerns. No need for you to worry, Mousepaw.”

“Since when do I worry about anything anyone else does?” Mousepaw scoffed. Rustshade sighed and stood, shaking sand and snow off his belly.

“You can eat my leftovers,” Rustshade muttered, heading for the leader’s den.

He weaved between the masses of Clanmates gathered to share their own portions of the salty new treat. He slipped into the shadows of the shipwreck and the depths of Downstar’s den. Downstar laid in her nest, quietly eating her small kelp wrap. She looked up as soon as Rustshade entered.

“Is something wrong?” Downstar asked, hurrying to her paws.

“Not with me,” Rustshade grunted, marching to Downstar’s side. He squared his jaw and said, “Downstar, as your friend, I am ordering you to leave your den.”

“You’ve never had a good sense of humor, Rustshade,” Downstar muttered, sitting back down.

“This is not a joke,” Rustshade snapped. “Your leg has been fine for over a moon. You’ve avoided half a year’s worth of Gatherings and holidays. This isn’t like you.”

“I haven’t been in a social mood, Rustshade,” Downstar growled, curling her lip.

“The Clan is worried,” Rustshade hissed, meeting Downstar’s sneer with his own bared teeth. “You haven’t been yourself since the darkhound attacked.”

“Leave me alone, Rustshade!” Downstar snapped. “Go back to your apprentice.” Downstar flicked her tail at Rustshade and turned her back.

“You know better than to believe this is healthy,” Rustshade grunted. He stomped around and faced Downstar, despite the way her amber eyes focused on anything but him.

“What am I supposed to do?” Downstar huffed. “You’re out there, enjoying yourselves, when all I can think about is what we need to do to prepare for the next challenge StarClan will throw at us. Staying in here has been easier.”

“I understand, I do,” Rustshade insisted. “When my kits died, I wanted to put all my energy into making sure my others thrived. I forgot that I had to thrive too for a while there.”

“You did?” Downstar asked.

“I keep it hidden better,” Rustshade sighed. He sat next to Downstar and said nothing for a while. Downstar’s quiet breaths filled the den.

“I don’t quite know where to go from here,” Downstar admitted.

“Just know you’re not alone,” Rustshade said. His paw slipped next to Downstar’s. A little-felt spark passed through him. A moment later, Downstar rested her tail over his. Rustshade leaned into Downstar, and Downstar into him.

(Rustshade: 76, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Downstar: 91, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James confessed his feelings to Weedfoot and they have become mates.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand together, facing Oilstripe. Paleshade’s ghost stands next to Oilstripe, transparent. Oilstripe says, “Paleshade couldn’t be happier.” Under Weedfoot, it says + MATE: JAMES. Under James, it says + MATE: WEEDFOOT.]

---

Oilstripe wasn’t sure what to think of her father’s new relationship. He liked Downstar? Oilstripe knew they were close, all the founding members were to some degree, but Downstar? Didn’t she still hate Oilstripe? Her opinion seemed to have softened since Oilstripe revealed her secret sight to the Clan, but still… did she have to consider Wildclaw and her brothers as her own siblings? Did she have to call Downstar her mother? Please. She had no idea where her real mother’s spirit even was, she wasn’t going to get another mother. At least they had the good graces to quickly inform their children.

“Good for Rustshade!” Applepelt chirped. Her ghost spent a lot of time around camp, keeping an eye on Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Currently, she and Oilstipe sat by the oven, enjoying the leftover scent of Rabbitjoy’s kelp dish. “If they think they’ll be better off together, I say this is something to celebrate.”

“I’m allowed to be a little grumpy,” Oilstripe scoffed, flicking her tail through Applepelt’s transparent back leg. Applepelt’s star-speckled whiskers twitched. A shiver ran down her back.

“Oh, oh, Oilstripe!” Applepelt chirped. “Pay attention. More cats are visiting.” Star-studded cats slipped out of nearly every den in camp. Wasppaw, a bright golden tom, charged out of the apprentice’s den. Lavenderleaf, in all her soft brown glory, rubbed past Rabbitjoy as she made her way into the heart of the camp. Even more warriors whom Oilstripe almost never saw joined the more familiar faces, with everyone eagerly chatting. But it was Paleshade, emerging from behind the Shiprock, who caught Oilstripe’s attention. Her gray and cream pelt glimmered against the snow lining camp.

“They’ll be here in a few moments, everyone!” Paleshade cheered. She caught Oilstripe’s eye and called, “Oilstripe! Join us! You will want to celebrate.”

“Applepelt, do you know why they’re here?” Oilstripe asked.

“I have no idea,” Applepelt chirped, as obnoxiously positive as ever. “The Ashes in the Water are always doing something together.” Of course, the cats Oilstripe didn’t recognize were other members of the Ashes in the Water! The old red tom laying between Burdockcreek and Clammask had to be Redcloud. The gray and brown toms were Finstrike and Sprucespring. And the fawny molly trotting around camp was Burdockstream! Everyone Weedfoot lost in AshClan was gathering in camp, eagerly waiting for… something.

Oilstripe hopped off the rocks and weaved around her living Clanmates (mostly her siblings and the Downstar litter, still discussing their parents’ announcement). Wasppaw bounced around Paleshade, straining to look over the rocky borders of camp.

“Where is she?” Wasppaw groaned. “I can’t take it!”

“Patience is a virtue, Wasppaw,” Paleshade purred. “I think I hear their pawsteps in the snow outside.”

“Who exactly are we waiting for?” Oilstripe muttered. Even though the Clan knew she saw ghosts, she still held hushed conversations when others were in ear-shot.

At that moment, Weedfoot and James strolled into camp. They walked in sync, pelts together and tails interwoven. StarClan cheered as James nuzzled Weedfoot’s cheek.

“Are those two finally together?” Mousepaw scoffed from where she shared tongues with Shadowdrop. Her blunt question caught the attention of the living cats. RippleClan’s eyes rested on James and Weedfoot.

“A rather rude way to phrase it,” James chuckled, “but the two of us have grown closer these last few moons, and after a long discussion… yes. We are together.”

“StarClan, two in one day!” Burdockcreek groaned. The living and the dead swarmed James and Weedfoot. Rustshade and Downstar peeked out of the leader’s den and investigated the hub-bub. Oilstripe stayed outside of the crowd. To her surprise, Paleshade stayed with her.

“Shouldn’t you be congratuating your old mate?” Oilstripe asked. She winced and said, “That’s not a sore subject, is it? I don’t know how you manage having one mate in StarClan and another alive.”

“I’m overjoyed for Weedy,” Paleshade purred. “James is a charming tom. I know they’ll be happy together. I also know that I’m certain to become close friends with James once he joins our ranks.” Paleshade winked and Oilstripe couldn’t hold back a snort. “But how about you? Weedfoot is your closest friend. Congratulate her.”

“I don’t know if that’s true anymore,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at her old mentor. Weedfoot laughed and joked with the cats around her, utterly unaware that her old friends were a part of the festivities. “I always knew other cats thought I was weird before they knew I spoke to the dead. But Weedfoot thought I was sick and said nothing. If she really cared about me, why didn’t she talk to me?”

“She thought Fennelspot was helping,” Paleshade explained. Her misty tail passed through Oilstripe’s body. “She didn’t want to overstep. She didn’t know how to approach the subject.”

“How much of our friendship was her taking pity on me?” Oilstripe gulped. “Did she even see me as an equal?” She couldn’t bear to look at Weedfoot any longer.

“The only way you can answer those questions is if you have the conversation you’ve been avoiding for moons,” Paleshade huffed. “It doesn’t take the wisdom of StarClan to know that communication is the greatest tool a friend can wield to heal a relationship. I can’t tell you how many hours Weedfoot and I spent hashing out disagreements and ideas when we were young. You’re both mature enough to work through this. Now why don’t we see her together? I believe the crowd is thinning out.”

Paleshade waved her tail and sure enough, the Clan drifted away from the second new couple of the day. Weedfoot made eye contact with Oilstripe. Oilstripe held her breath. Weedfoot nudged James and the pair slowly approached Oilstipe.

“I’m glad you finally said something to him,” Oilstripe stammered as Paleshade’s tail phased through her own.

“Actually, James brought it up first,” Weedfoot purred, bunting her new mate. “I’m glad, though. We’ll be stronger together.” Paleshade stood tall and nodded to Oilstripe. Oilstripe steadied her nerves.

“Paleshade couldn’t be happier,” she said, barely breathing. Weedfoot stilled, blinking slowly as she processed what Oilstripe said. “She, uh… she’s really proud of you.” Weedfoot glanced around, as though hoping she could see Paleshade herself. The molly in question moved to Weedfoot’s side, purring. Weedfoot stepped away from James and got closer to Oilstripe.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot said. “I should have told you my concerns moons ago.”

“I was scared to tell others, because I thought they wouldn’t believe me,” Oilstripe said. “I don’t want to be the odd cat out.”

“You’re the best apprentice I’ve ever had,” Weedfoot said. She pressed against Oilstripe with a deep purr. Oilstripe pressed back, burying her face in her dear friend’s warm pelt.

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 108, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 26, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Fennelspot and Oilstripe have a long conversation about goals and aspirations and discover they have a lot in common.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other.]

(Fennelspot: 89, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Weedfoot organizes a mock battle to keep RippleClan’s skills sharp.

[Image ID: Weedfoot watches a large crowd of cats, including Fennelspot, Parsley & Scrubmask, and Oilstripe, James, & Carnationspeckle.]

---

The entire camp was a part of Weedfoot’s big training exercise, even those who were never expected to fight. Wildclaw was stuck to Rattlepelt’s side, showing her some swift defensive tactics with Halibutdusk’s help. Parsley and Scrubmask practiced some basic manuvers on the rocks surrounding camp. Rustshade and Mousepaw were arguing about who to spar with, held back only by Rabbitjoy and Downstar (who had finally started participating in Clan activities again). Oilstripe’s moves were off that day, but James and Carnationspeckle both took the time to work through some kinks with her. Fennelspot and Shadowdrop were the only ones not participating; Fennelspot kept an eye out for any overeager fighters while Shadowdrop had to keep his front leg still so the bone could heal.

Weedfoot directed the practice from a comfortable spot by the oven. The Clan had some excellent fighters in their ranks! Everyone rolled and tumbled about, unaffected by the late winter chill, putting their all into showing their strength. It reminded Weedfoot of AshClan in some regards. It was the perfect distraction.

At least until Oilstripe broke off from James and Carnationspeckle and joined Weedfoot.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong today,” Oilstripe groaned. “I can’t focus on anything! Can you spar with me for a while? You always had great things to say in battle training.”

“Oh, I’m sure James and Carnationspeckle are more than enough to help you,” Weedfoot stammered, shaking her head. “I want to make sure everyone is getting their practice in. LynxClan has been stirring up such a fuss about access to our salt resources, I want everyone to be prepared if they make a move.”

“Carnationspeckle gets nervous when she pushes too hard,” Oilstripe groaned, “and James doesn’t want to push at all. You’re still the best fighter in RippleClan, paws down.”

“Thank you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot gulped, “but I’m sure, I don’t want to spar right now.”

“Why not?” Oilstripe asked. Her curious gaze drifted over Weedfoot’s fur. “Are you not feeling well? You devoured that bass like you haven’t eaten in moons.” Weedfoot glanced at her Clanmates, but they were all focused on their own tasks or disagreements.

“Step outside with me,” Weedfoot whispered, flicking her tail to the exit. Oilstripe quietly followed her out of camp. Weedfoot led her to the thin coast south of camp, far enough away that no one could hear them. She sat where the sand met the snow-speckled grass.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Oilstripe face each other. Weedfoot says, “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”]

“You aren’t the sort to be so nervous,” Oilstripe hummed. “What’s wrong?”

“Are there any ghosts listening in?” Weedfoot wondered as the fur on the back of her neck stood up.

“Weedfoot, just tell me what’s bothering you,” Oilstripe snapped.

“I can’t spar because I’m pregnant,” Weedfoot blurted. It was like the words exploded out of her. She subconsciously tucked her tail over her belly. Oilstripe’s whole pelt stood on end.

“Is this something we’re excited for?” Oilstripe gulped hesitantly, unable to tear her eyes off Weedfoot’s stomach.

“I don’t know,” Weedfoot groaned. She stared out at the ocean, which blew salty drops into her face. “I think I want these kits. James and I talked about parenthood half a moon ago. He would love to be a father. He said it would give him more excuses to stay in camp.” Weedfoot chuckled at the memory and looked back at Oilstripe, whose whole attention was stuck on her. “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”

“You have a whole Clan of cats who adore you,” Oilstripe insisted. “We won’t put this all on you. We’ll drown your kits in love and attention.”

“I know,” Weedfoot purred, curling around her stiff belly. “I want these kits. That doesn’t stop me from being scared.”

“Does James know?” Oilstripe asked.

“Only Fennelspot and I,” Weedfoot admitted. “He told me this morning. I’m still overwhelmed.”

“It might make you feel better to see James lose his mind,” Oilstripe suggested, flicking her ears back toward camp.

“I don’t want to stop the battle early,” Weedfoot said, settling down. “Could you sit with me for a while? We’ll go back soon, I promise.” Oilstripe scooted close and settled pelt-to-pelt against Weedfoot. It was hard for Weedfoot to form a complete thought as her mind fluttered through half-finished words and vague memories. As a large wave crashed onto the shore and stretched to meet Weedfoot’s paws, however, one word clarified itself like the shimmer of salt water on sand.

Wonderful.

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #paleshade #wasppaw #rustshade #mousepaw #burdockcreek #james #fennelspot #applepelt

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 11 days

Text

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 19

MASTAPOST

Danny woke from his little cat nap soon after, stretching his tail out like a lounging snake. Damian sat next to him, characteristically unimpressed as the teenager cracked his knuckles and shook off the remaining grogginess.

“Are you done?” Damian asked.

Danny yawned again. “Yeah what time is it?”

“It has been about two hours. We are wasting time.”

Damian swam to Danny’s left side and nudged him with his head. Danny bonelessly flopped to the side without moving. “Dude, what’s the rush? I thought you liked animals.”

“The whales have been amenable company, but my father needs me back as soon as possible. In addition, we have entered a coral reef.”

Danny blinked, and got up. The boy leaned his head over the edge of the mother whale. Seemed Damian was right. The waterscape in front of them was filled with tall kelp forests in the distance. Below the, the sea floor housed miles of vibrant coral in all sorts of colours. Red, purple, yellow and green coral spiraled and twisted and grew from the rocks and sand, living alongside schools of big and small fish. Clownfish peeked in an out of anemones. Little critters like shrimps and lobsters crawled in and out of crevices, sheltered from predators.

Damian apparently thought he was taking too long. Danny belatedly realised his harness was untied, just as Damian rammed into his back and pushed him off the edge.

“We need to replenish our supplies.” Damian said. “Teach me how to gather forage and hunt.”

Well that was a slight issue. Being a modern American teenager with access to such things as fridges and a global supply chain meant that he was perhaps less suited to roughing it than the younger boy might have assumed. It was not like he never had to live off the land, but the less said about long swim home after Vlad happened, the better.

“Well?” Damian repeated, arms crossed, looking down Danny expectantly.

“Alright then. I’ll teach you silly human what it’s like to live off the land, like your ancestors long before you.” He said sagely.

The whale pod crooned a deep farewell as the continued on their journey. He and Damian waved them off, before returning to their own needs.

He led his young charge to perch atop a cliff overlooking the reef. The boys laid their fins flat so as to avoid drawing attention. Danny scanned the landscape, settling his eyes on a lobster hiding underneath a rock. Despite their reputation these days, lobsters did not look nearly as appetising raw and alive. From the bottom, they looked more like cockroaches than delicacies. Plus, they were literally the worst possible travelling food ever. No.

Instead, Danny caught sight of his real prize. Mussels!

“You good with shellfish?” He asked the younger boy. Damian turned up his nose, looking haughty like Sam’s parents were it not for the adorable pout he’d put on too.

“If the only other option is starvation.”

“We’ll keep an eye for more plants on the way.” Danny said, preparing to descend.

The thing about mussels was that you didn’t need to kill them to bring them along. They came with their own natural packaging, even if it was a bit heavy. Danny stuffed his pockets with a couple handfuls of the shellfish, leaving space for a more varied diet, and leaving the rest to stay and reproduce. He wasn’t greedy! Sam had taught him about these things. Mussels were very important to the environment. Evidently Damian was aware too. The boy nodded in approval as Danny continued his search.

Damian’s sword came in useful as well (he would’ve taken it away if he wasn’t sure that the kid would slash him for it) for harvesting kelp and seaweed. The pair snacked on kelp strips as Danny took them to their next prey.

However, Damian protested. “I do not wish to kill this one.”

The huge trout, easily as big as Damian, floated blissfully ignorant of the two predators eyeing it like hawks. Danny ‘s head spun as he tried to keep track of Damian’s seemingly endlessly shifting opinion towards eating fish or not. “That thing could feed us for like 300 miles.”

“The largest fish also reproduce the most. This one is a female.” Damian continued. Now that he thought of it, didn’t Sam make a whole protest about this in the beginning of summer? “Many oceans are in danger due to overfishing from humans. As a human myself, it is my responsibility to fish sustainably.”

The boy’s fins puffed with pride and conservationist fervor, a quiet determination that reminded him of Sam. Danny had some doubts. “If we eat the small fry, there won’t be many left to grow big and ‘reproduce’ as you say.”

This point seemed to put pause on Damian’s previous showboating. The boy gritted his teeth, looking for a comeback. “What about invasive species? Those that threaten the natural balance.”

Danny shrugged. That was a good point, except Danny didn’t know how to identify any of those.

“But you live in the ocean!” Damian protested when this point was brought up.

“Yeah. You live on land. Does that mean you know about every species that lives on Gotham?”

“Yes.” Well he kinda walked into that one, didn’t he?

“Well if you know so much about invasive species, why don’t you look for them?” Danny challenged. Animal hyperfixation or not, surely this kid couldn’t identify the hundreds of species that lived in this reef.

Damian’s ear fins tensed, something he’d noticed in himself whenever he was concentrating on something. The boy turned away from Danny and to the reef in front of them. Suddenly, the boy’s body slumped.

A smug grin split open Danny’s face.

Damian groaned, as if his next words were like Soviet torture. “There are no saltwater invasive fish near California, to my knowledge.”

“Hah! Suck on that, fishboy!”

Damian mewled angrily. His hand drifted down to the hilt of his sword. On dear.

“Alright, alright, alright. What about a compromise?” Danny waved his arms defensively.

“Speak.”

“We grab the fish that we were gonna grab before you interrupted.” Damian hissed at that. “BUUttt only one. And we fill our pockets with small fry. A balanced fishing diet. What do you say?”

The grumpy child pouted one more time for good measure, before sinking back to the floor. “Fine. You still need to teach me how to make a kill.”

“You sure you won’t get attached?”

“I can suppress my emotions to complete the mission.” It spoke something about Damian that Danny wasn’t even that phased this time. That being said please let that just be a boast with nothing to back that up.

Danny lay prone, fins flat, head down, like a tiger about to pounce. In the entire conversation they’d had, the trout had drifted about five inches from its previous position. Survival instincts this poor girl had not.

“All you need to do is shut your gills, like holding a breath. Just get closer… and closer… and POUNCE!”

Danny leapt at the trout, using his powers to accelerate into a blur. His hands pinned it down in an instant, the trout thrashing and slapping him, trying to escape. With a swift motion, Danny bit clean through its gills. The trout rapidly lost strength, slowly fading until it went still.

He held the trout up like a trophy. “Tada!”

Damian frowned deeply. “That was an unclean kill. It suffered immensely.”

“Ughh!” Danny groaned. “What do you want from me. I’m a siren not an assassin.”

Damian unsheathed his sword, looking about 50% more menacing as any other six-year-old Danny had ever met. “It seems I will have to show you, instead.”

Five minutes later, his idea of showing Danny how to kill resulted in a fresh bruise and a bent fin. The carp he had tried to pounce managed to escape with a shallow cut on its side.

“I’m very educated now, Damian. Thank you.” He snickered as Damian roared in anger.

“Shut your mouth! You have an unfair advantage, seeing as you can use your powers, while I am hampered by my body.”

“You’ll grow into them. I think. I dunno I haven’t met a lot of siren kids.”

“I am not a child!” Damian said, pouting very maturely.

The rest of the morning was spent like that, roaming the reef in search of food and bickering over this and that. At one point they debated over dolphins were whales or not (Danny personally thought whales were too nice to encompass dolphins under their umbrella).

Their food supplies replenished and energy still raring to go, the boys sealed their satchels shut, and continued south.

Meanwihle…

Hundreds of miles away in the ocean, Bruce stands at the helm of the Fenton Family SAV, its modified engines going at full throttle.

In a hidden compartment in his room, Tucker Foley slams into the firewall of the Fenton’s new database with everything he has. Schematics, blueprints, notes. He needs that data and he needs it now.

Sam Manson meditates on her bed, surrounded by candles. She recites warding spells, a staple for any young magician.

Skulker sits in his private yacht, bandaging his wounded leg, sliding the pieces for his next upgrade. Behind him, an ornate fish tank sits empty, awaiting its guest.

Agent K and Agent O monitor the news. The sonars around Amity. A report sits on the desk. The Fentons have just left town? That will be interesting…

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #dcxdp #merman #merboy #angst #mermaid au #fluff #hunting #hunting of animals #mer!danny #mer!damian wayne

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