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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months

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yandere! literary agent with fem!reader scenario [part two]

warnings: implication of obsessive thoughts or love.

There might be potential triggers in this story. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome back to the second installment of this scenario, featuring Yulian Prescott. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my dear friend @deathmetalunicorn1 who helped me write this finale.

As always, bullying on here will not be tolerated. If it does happen, this series will be taken down.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive back into the cutthroat world of publishing.

Part One

The press conference went as expected.

Everyone wanted to know who accused best-selling author Abigail Crowley of plagiarism, where is the evidence to prove that an unidentified individual is the one who really wrote The Darkness and The Nightingale, and why are the representatives of the publishing company are now just finding out about it less than a month before its release date. Yandere!Literary Agent is good at his job, at least when it comes to standing in front of flashing cameras and phones shoved in his face, asking for a statement. He answered the journalists who patiently raised their hands and disregarded the ones who kept interrupting with asinine questions that had nothing to do with the subject of the press conference whatsoever. Yes, he had been contacted by the true writer. No, he will not give out a name to respect their privacy. Yes, there is evidence and it will be presented to a judge, should Abigail Crowley wishes to take Sailboat Publishing House to court and fight back against the claims. No, the printing date will not be changed. He is currently with the writer on revisions and he will not take any more questions at this time. Please speak to the company’s PR representative, Ms. Isley, for a formal interview. That is it for today.

The world now knows the truth. Social media was going to be a proverbial shitstorm; one side will defend Abigail Crowley and say she is the true author as she is still a great writer, and there will be people who speak trash to her out of spite for whatever reason. Some will even try to track you down online and harass you for days on end. Yandere!Literary Agent just hoped that you meant what you said about not being online anymore because of politics.

In any case, the projected million copies to be sold would have to decrease significantly. You told him over the phone that you didn’t mind, commenting that at least 100,000 should be a tidy enough number and he would still get his commission. He didn't have to worry about the fees since Abigail is going to pay for those, or fight back. That was the ultimatum Yandere!Literary Agent and the board members gave it to her almost a week ago.

It was six-thirty in the evening when he told you about what had happened. He was still in the office finishing up a few things, and he had you on speaker mode while he typed away at his desk. You were typing too, working on the revisions and thanking the universe that you had a digital copy of your manuscript on file too, so the task he had given you made things a little easier. So did taking two weeks off of work. But the way you saw it, the PTO either had to be used now, or it wouldn’t be rolled over because you had too much PTO. Yes, that can definitely happen in your career field because you need the hours to pay for bills and essentially being alive. You were making good progress and hoped that you didn’t need to pull another all-nighter just to finish up these edits on page 159.

You were diligent, Yandere!Literary Agent will give you that much. He reminded you of the deadline. You told him to focus on his work, and he’ll have a pristine manuscript in his inbox. Please stop the daily phone calls and text messages, he was putting the pressure on you. This is why you did not want to become an author.

He contacted you on Friday night about the press conference. The following week, an email titled The Darkness and the Nightingale - final edits popped up as soon he opened his computer on Thursday morning.

It’s done. Contact me only if there are edits that must absolutely be changed. Going to sleep. Night.

[First Name]

The manuscript had been sent to him at three o’clock in the morning. You had really cut it close but it was here. The story was finished. He quickly opened up the document. He looked over the edits, compared it to what was written before….and nodded in affirmation. Yes. Yandere!Literary Agent thought as he looked over the words, your words, with a small smile, leaning back against his leather chair. This is a story that will sell.

Yandere!Literary Agent placed the manuscript on a flash drive, arranged a meeting with the printing companies and sent you three options for the cover art and needed a response as soon as you were able to. All in all, everything had turned out. A week before the release date arrived, The Darkness and The Nightingale were loaded into trucks to be sold in bookstores across the country.

One task done. Now to move onto the next project.

He deleted your contact info. He had no reason to keep it, at least on his phone. Email was enough. Sure enough, another client sent him a pitch for a new trilogy that would act as the prequel to the original ones that were already popular with young adults, and Yandere!Literary Agent dove head first into it. He hadn’t realized that a month had passed since The Darkness and The Nightingale had been published. This is what usually happens when he concentrates solely on one client. A bad habit, yes, but as he has mentioned beforehand, he is good at his job.

No news yet in regards to Abigail Crowley, the plagiarism issue was dying down in favor of a startlet’s drug overdose, and there was a meeting on Monday to discuss sales. Another win-win for Yulian Prescott, the man who had single-handedly saved the company from going under. But on Friday afternoon, Yandere!Literary Agent received an email from the printing companies and PR department, concerning the sales of your book. Flummoxed, and a little worried that the number of copies unsold outweighed what was printed, he opened the email.

He blinked. And then blinked again before removing his glasses, giving them a good cleaning and placing them back onto his face. He re-read the email again, his eyes growing wider and wider. This wasn’t about copies that weren’t sold….it was a request from five hundred different printing companies to print your book. The demand wasn’t isolated to the States. There were demands from all over the world!

Unlocking his phone, he swiped over to TikTok, searched for Booktok and looked at the trending topics. There were reels, memes, and reactions about your book. There were people quoting about your book, reenactments of certain scenes, before and after reactions, etc. Of course there were some who didn’t believe that you wrote it, thinking you stole it from Abigail, but that was beside the point.

Your first book had taken the world by storm, and he hadn’t even considered this possibility because it has only happened a few times with Sailboat Publishing. He should have negotiated a higher number of books with you! But that was then, this is now.

He quickly opened a new message on his email, attaching the email he had gotten, inquiring you to see what he has seen and if you would allow more copies to be published. His schedule is open, so please answer when you get a chance. He received an email from you a few hours later, stating the following:

I work twelve hour shifts on weekdays and only have weekends to get my life together. Why do we need to discuss numbers? I already received the advanced copy. Were you trying to send an attachment? It didn’t go through. Wi-Fi was down until now.

[First Name]

Yandere!Literary Agent immediately responded, asking if you would like to meet up later today if that was possible. You said that you were still out running a few errands, but could meet him at Sally’s Diner or a Starbucks. Both places were located halfway between his office and your home, at least the ones you knew about. If he wasn’t at work today, where else did he want to meet? You don’t want to travel too far, and you’d like to take a nap before it gets too late in the day. He had to fight off the smile that was threatening to stretch across his mouth. Cheeky. He thought. He already had a light lunch, but he wasn’t opposed to getting a mid-afternoon pickup. When he offered to pay for your drink and a pastry of your choice, you responded that you would meet him there in an hour.

It gave plenty of time to gather what he needed to speak to you about the current situation.

He met you outside of the building at the allotted time, enjoying a light breeze before following you inside, holding the door open for you and a mother-daughter duo exiting with Strawberry Acai Refreshers in their hands.

Once the orders were placed under his name, Yandere!Literary Agent led you to the back of the cafe and sat down at one of the small tables. You followed suit, hooking the straps of your backpack on the back of your chair. “Did you read the attachment?” He asked.

You nodded. “I did. But….you’re absolutely sure the numbers are right, the ones you’ve shown me? Because if this is your idea of a joke, I swear to God -”

Yulian held up a hand in the air, stopping you from saying anything else.

"Believe me I thought the same thing when I first opened it, but this is no joke, [First Name]. Publishing companies from around the world have reached out, requesting mass publications in at least fifteen different languages, at the moment. And according to the PR team, more keep coming. Your work has gone global, [First Name], and more people are wanting to read it."

You looked at him in utter disbelief, leaning back against the chair with wide [Eye Color] orbs. Before you could ask him any more questions, the barista called out for Yulian.

Yandere!Literary Agent stood up, collecting the drinks and pastry and returning to his seat. Placing them down on the table, he gave yours, and put his black coffee to the side so that he could boot up his laptop. He pulled up the reprint requests so you could see it for yourself. The proof that you are a successful writer. You stared at the screen for a moment until you glanced back up at him.

“Why is it so successful? I thought the reason we agreed on a small number of copies to be printed was because of the plagiarism scandal. There’s been nothing on the news about it lately, or about Abigail.”

Yulian smiled. “Because you are a brilliant writer. While we did agree on a small account of copies to be printed, there’s high praise on social media. Everyone is clamoring to read it, hence why the demand is greater than anyone could have anticipated, myself included.” He folded his hands together, elbows pressing against the table. “Now, regarding the…situation with Ms. Crowley, the legal team still has the materials you had shown to me; the receipts from Etsy, the Google Docs, they all have timestamps. So even if she wishes to take it to court, no one can deny that she did indeed steal your work because you created this masterpiece while she was working on another series. And before you say anything, your personal information has and will not be released.”

You nodded slowly at his words, your shoulders dropping in relief before reaching for your beverage, taking a languid sip from the cup. Then another, obviously relishing the effect of caffeine giving your body that much needed energy boost. Yandere! Literary Agent knew the feeling all too well.

“Now, how many copies will you allow us to reprint?”

“What are the fees that will come with doing this kind of job?” You fired back. “If there is a global demand like you say there is, then someone will need to translate it. Not to mention there are different cover designs, marketing, all of that fun stuff. Will the royalties, if I am to receive any, be deducted to cover the cost? I do not want to get myself into any more debt that I already have.”

Yandere!Literary Agent pulled out his laptop from his messenger bag, pulling up the spreadsheets that the publishing and financing departments had created earlier in the week. The information included fees for translating, reprinting, and international shipping based on demand. On the very bottom of the last spreadsheet would be your net income.

He had no doubt that this amount of money would allow you to be debt-free and live comfortably…at least until you could write another book. Then he saw the confusion, panic, excitement and anxiety swirling in your irises. The mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. Yandere!Literary Agent had seen that stupefied look more than once. It was the expression of someone who had not expected to receive such a big paycheck, at least until he had kindly explained that there were some fees which needed to be paid, which would be deducted from the royalties. With you, it seemed like he did not have to hold your hand and explain how the business of publishing went, word for word.

Which is why he was quite surprised to see you suddenly standing up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “Where are you going?” He asked, watching you push in the chair.

“I’m leaving.”

“But you still haven’t decided on a number of copies for us to reprint!”

“I’m sorry, but I am not liking where this conversation is headed. As I mentioned before, I write for fun. This isn’t about the money, and I have no desire whatsoever to be your next cash cow. Can’t you decide on a number and call it a day?”

“Not without your consent! That would be in direct violation of our contract, and you wouldn’t be paid for the reprinted copies!” He exclaimed. Yes, he knew that he was acting a bit…childish, but this is a serious matter! How could you even think of walking away from a one-in-a-million opportunity like this? Or even believe that he would use your writing to embellish the company’s reputation further by being the sole representative of an extremely popular, best-selling writer?

Because in the darkest corner of his mind, a nasty voice would gleefully agree with your accusations. This was nothing personal, it was a business. And he would go where there was talent, and money. Not to mention elevate his status even further as a high-in-demand literary agent for one of the biggest publishing companies in the States.

You raised an eyebrow at him, then leaned forward, putting your hands on the back of the chair.

“Mister Prescott, for a minute, please pretend I am not a client and explain in layman’s terms, why would I be paid for that? As far as I was concerned, once the book is out of my hands, it is your responsibility and how the printing is handled. Or am I wrong?”

A client. That’s right….you weren’t a client. You were just a hobbyist writer who had your work stolen by one of his clients. But you were still a writer, someone who could create worlds while working godawful shifts back-to-back. So he spoke plainly to you.

While you were not officially his client, your work was still part of Sailboat Publishing, therefore it is his responsibility to ensure that the royalties matched the time and effort you had put in creating The Darkness and The Nightingale. Yes, he had to make sure the quality of the book’s printing were high quality and not a hackneyed rush job just to keep up with the demand.

Then he said he would be delighted if he could be your official representative…in the near future.

You shook your head. “No need for that. You returned my story to me. After we decide on numbers, I’d say your business with me is done.”

“You don’t want to be an author on the New York Times’ Bestseller List.” It was more of a statement than a question. So why did his heart drop into the pit of his stomach at the thought of never seeing you again once you walk out of the door?

“I’m pretty sure you have more than enough clients to keep yourself busy for a long time.” You said dryly. “You’d drive yourself crazy if you worked with me.”

“And how do you know that it won’t work out?” He challenged you with a small smile. You just gave him an ‘are-you-shitting-me’ frown before releasing a low sigh.

“I still have six more months left on my contract with the hospital. I can’t just quit or I risk having to pay back everything as compensation for breaching it before the end of the contract. I wouldn’t be able to do anything related to the book, like tours and interviews until…sometime next year? No, more like the beginning of next year, like around February. I am starting to outline the concept of another idea I have for a book, a standalone, but I only write on my days off or when I’m on my lunch break. Are you fine with waiting until I send you a query letter and the first fifty pages until next February? Is that too long for your liking?”

Yandere! Literary Agent was not bothered by this proposition. If anything, it worked out perfectly with his schedule. And there is the prospect of you becoming his official client. However, he did not want to push your boundaries any more than he already has for today. Instead, he said that it was fine with him.

“If you agree to us printing more copies of The Darkness and The Nightingale, then we’ll be all set until next year. Do you want to use the same cover worldwide, or do you want us to come up with some alternative covers for different countries, and send you the designs you like?”

“...Alternative.” You said, pulling back the chair and sitting back down, backpack plopped into the adjacent seat. “Do you have any artists that you recommend, or have portfolios I could look at?”

Decisions were discussed within the next hour, and Yandere!Literary Agent was satisfied with leaving Starbucks with an idea of what his Monday morning is going to look like. But what satisfied him more was the number of copies that he and you agreed on. Fifty-thousand, in each language.

It was enough to make his heart quicken with excitement.

Or is he anticipating the momentous day when you signed a contract with Sailboat Publishing and he became your literary agent? Six months might seem like a long time….but he prided himself on being a patient man.

Knowing he will be the best damned agent for you, because you deserve nothing less, and much more.

Knowing he will be the only one to read your WIPS, help you become a better writer, protect you from the paparazzi and anyone else who would dare to try to covet you like a trophy.

Knowing that in the end, all you will have is him. And he will have you, whether you like it or not.

If Abigail Crowley keeps trying to contact him, pleading that she wasn’t wrong and that she did have a new idea for a book so please read her emails she’s been sending please give her one more chance don’t ruin her life please…he might have to do something about it.

Noisy dogs need to be fed, right?

©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

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focsle · 1 year

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I never did a long thing about scrimshaw, so it’s time! At 1 am, apparently.

I think scrimshaw is one of the most fascinating material goods to emerge from the history of the American whaling industry (which is the context I’m discussing here, though of course the artform exists across numerous eras and cultures outside this brief blip of nautical history).

It’s one way to see amatuer art that usually doesn’t often survive in other forms. To see the art project of an ordinary man who was bored and needed something to do with his hands. Others were highly skilled craftsman, creating intricate engravings or mechanically expert tools. The most common scrimshaw was images etched on sperm whale teeth. Sometimes those images came from the maker’s own imagination and sometimes they were copied illustrations. Ships & whaling scenes, women, mythical figures, and patriotic symbols make up the bulk of the visual language in those pieces that survive.

But alongside the teeth were all a manner of carved items: canes, candle holders, pie crimpers, children’s toys, sewing boxes, yarn swifts, corset busks. So much bone fashioned into quiet little homegoods. And it’s that contradiction within scrimshaw that fascinates me. The brutality of the industry, this ivory from an animal that frankly died terribly, that’s then softened into a little domestic item. An object that could have hours to years of work put into it. Some were made to be sold but many were made as gifts. In the long stretches of boredom at sea, in the lull between back-breaking work and life-threatening terror, scrimshaw gives a window into where the minds of these men continually turned. It shows where their hearts were and what they were holding on to over all the years they spent adrift in saltwater and blood and oil. That’s the poetry I see in scrimshaw. Pain and love and longing and creativity and playfulness all bound together in these complicated little pieces that found their way out of the hands of their anonymous makers to preserve a small part of their story.

Some scrimshanders names are known. Frederick Myrick is one of the most well known American whalers, not so much for the scope of his life (of which little is known) but for his scrimshaw. Born in Nantucket in 1808, he first went whaling in 1825 on the Columbus and then again on the Susan 1826-29. In the last few months aboard the Susan, Myrick engraved over 30 sperm whale teeth, all depicting the ship he was on (though there are a handful that depict other vessels). He signed and dated nearly each one. These pieces are often referred to as ‘Susan’s Teeth’ now, and when one comes up at auction it’s not unusual for it to sell for six figures.

Many of the teeth Myrick scrimshawed included an inscribed couplet of his devising: A dark wish for luck that succinctly gets at the violent and unstable heart of American whaling.

“Death to the living, long life to the killers Success to sailor’s wives, and greasy luck to whalers”

Sometimes large scenes were etched on panbones as well.

Moving from scrimshaw on teeth and jawbones, pie crimpers are some of the more common sculptural items. Popular motifs included animals (dogs, snakes, and unicorns/hippocampus are big), body parts (mostly clenched fists or lady’s legs), and geometric designs.

Others were more mechanically complicated, such as automatons and children’s toys with moving parts and gears. Here’s one of a small rocking sailboat, perhaps made for someone’s child or younger sibling.

Sometimes a particular creative fellow created something more eccentric, like this wild writing desk kit fashioned out of a carved panbone and sperm whale teeth.

Another frequently scrimshawed object was a corset busk that would be slid into the front of the garment in order to maintain the posture. A rather private item compared to others. And one with a very on-the-nose message of wearing close to one’s heart the memory of someone who’d be gone for 3-4 years, who might never come home again. On some level, so many of these daily objects whispered ‘forget me not’, ‘think of me while I’m gone’.

There’s something tender to all the various domestic items that were fashioned on the job so long and far from home, but it’s the yarn swifts that really captivate me. They were one of the most complicated pieces of scrimshaw to make, with over one hundred different pieces that would have to be carved. It could take someone the length of the voyage (2-4 years) to complete a single one. Unlike teeth which were comparatively very quick to make and were frequently intended to be sold, it’s very unlikely that a swift was made with the aim of selling it because of the significant labor that went into it. They were almost certainly all gifts, and very special ones at that. Every time I see one I can just feel the love towards its intended recipient radiating off of it.

Scrimshaw captures a specific snapshot of a moment in time. On a broader scale it’s a surviving reminder of a bloody industry that flared up and winked out, preserved in the form of a long-lost ship and the spout of a long-dead whale inked on a yellowing tooth. But that snapshot also reveals the emotional world of the men who were caught up in such an industry: what they valued, what they thought about, what they missed, and what they wanted to be remembered of them.

#awhalin #long post //#animal death //#ok bedtime

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mathmodder · 3 days

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Get Wild & Ocean Life MOD Version 2.1 Trial

Hello nature lovers and marine life enthusiasts!

I am thrilled to share the LATEST TRIAL VERSION of GetWildMOD and OceanLifeMOD 2.1. This is the final trial version before the official release, so don't miss out!

What is this mod?

This mod combines two exciting projects into one, offering enhanced sound and visual effects. Now, beetle spawners in your game also spawn birds, mammals, amphibians, new insects, and much more! Additionally, sailboat effects in your world will now spawn whales, dolphins, seals, sea turtles, saltwater crocodiles, and other sea creatures. With over 300 different types of animals, this mod will bring vibrant life to your game!

What's new in this update:

- *Accelerated spawn rates:* Animals now appear more frequently in your game.

- *Increased sea animal spawns:* Sailboats in your world will now attract more sea animals, creating a richer, more dynamic environment.

How to test:

1. *Remove previous versions:* Delete all files from earlier test versions to ensure the new update functions smoothly.

2. *New OPTIONAL Addons:* Update of my old mod versions allow insects to fly more freely, and ALSO serving as spawners for both ground and flying animals, thus populating your map with more wildlife.

*ATTENTION:* These addons increase the number of animal spawns, requiring a PC with good processing power. If you have an older PC, use only one addon. If your PC is powerful, feel free to use all addons without worry!

GetWildMod Addons:

- *Addon 1:* Enhanced Butterflies - spawns additional wildlife!

- *Addon 2:* Enhanced Will-o'-the-wisp Butterflies - spawns additional wildlife!

- *Addon 3:* Enhanced Fireflies - spawns additional wildlife!

Important note:

This is a trial version. If you encounter any issues or have feedback, please share your thoughts to help improve this experience for everyone. Connect with me on Tumblr or Patreon!

Join us on this exciting journey to bring our virtual worlds to life. I look forward to hearing about your experiences and seeing how this addition transforms your adventures!

Download the new trial version of GetWildMOD and OceanLifeMOD on [Patreon].

#sims 3 mod #mathmodder #getwildmod #ts3 wip #oceanlifemod #sims 3 mods #effects #the sims 3 mod #sims3

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chaos-bites · 2 months

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🌱 Subtle Freyr Worship 🐗

Take a hike/walk out in nature

Meditate in nature; ground yourself

Take frequent breaks from technology to get some fresh air or go outside

Take care of yourself physically; exercise, if able

Have a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Start a garden; tend to plants

Grow your own herbs, fruits, or vegetables

Pick flowers (not from someone's garden!!!)

Make flower crowns

Have a stuffed animal horse or boar

Have imagery of plants, fruits, sailboats/Viking ships, or antlers

Dance to music that makes you feel lively and free

Allow yourself to romanticize life

Be open to love; be compassionate towards others and yourself

Be kind to young children; play with them if offered

Keep a self-care/self-love journal

At the beginning of the harvest or spring season, cook a hardy, good meal for yourself; cook a feast for your loved ones

Spend time with loved ones

Spend time with pets; play with or walk them

Support animal shelters or environmental preservation organizations

Volunteer at an animal shelter

Visit a zoo or wildlife refuge/sanctuary

Learn about nature; watch nature documentaries, learn about animals, etc.

Learn how to forage safely; picking berries, mushrooms, etc.

Eat three meals a day

Learn how to cook or bake

Drink herbal teas, vegetable juice, or fruit juice, especially if it's homemade

Feed neighborhood dogs, cats, or birds

Wear naturally scented perfumes/colognes

Pick up trash in the environment

Focus on self improvement

Lead a project, group, etc.

Engage in activities that you feel passionate about

Drink water; stay hydrated

Play in the rain

Ground yourself regularly; focus on healthy coping skills

Cook a warm meal for someone in need

I might add more to this later on! For the time being, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Freyr. I hope you enjoy this, and take care! 💚

Link to my Subtle Worship Master list

#norse paganism #norse pagan #norse deities #paganblr #freyr deity #freyr worship #freyr #deity worship #pagan tips #norse heathenry

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wickedastrology · 2 years

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wickedastrology’s astro notes p. 1

**tw: mentions of abuse, eating disorders, suicide, sex, drug use

- I’ve noticed your rising sign can also symbolize what type of environment you are born into. I know someone who with a late degree aqua rising conjunct Uranus, also in stellium with Mercury pisces 0 degrees. They literally spent the first year of their life on a sailboat (Pisces = ocean, Mercury = travel). The Aquarius Uranus shows how different and unique their birth into life was. Scorpio/Pluto energy ascendant natives usually are born into a toxic environment, especially between the mother and father (I’ve seen some weird age gaps with this placement), Libra risings had to become people pleasers very young, Taurus rising tend to have problems with toxic masculinity, usually stemming from their father. Gemini risings have to learn the world by themselves at a very young age.

- 9th house/3rd house axis can show you how someone expresses their spirituality with the world, 3rd house = how/who/the style they learn, 9th house = how they teach others. I have Leo 3rd/ aqua 9th… my father is a Leo, and he was the first to teach me anything about oneness with the universe. I struggle a lot with ego and insecurity, which are Leo/Aquarian things. Aquarian’s are innovative and they look like they know what they are talking about, people who can keep up with my rambles about astrology or universe, usually take my word for it pretty easily. Moon/Cancer energy in 9th house can make someone very spiritually in tune with music, might be their “only outlet.” Pluto energy gives off “dark witchy” vibes.

- We all know the moon represents the mother, negative aspects such as squares and oppositions can highlight what negative qualities our mothers had. I’ve seen an interesting pattern between the moon opposition Pluto… Taurus moon opposition Scorpio Pluto tend to have mothers that forced an eating disorder on them, their mother also could’ve tried to gain some sort of profit off of their child’s trauma, and they had ridiculously high beauty standards. Gemini moon, sagittarius Pluto usually have moms that are disconnected from reality in some way, usually by drugs or alcohol. Their moms also tend to have sudden mood changes, they project their “craziness” onto their children, call them the crazy ones.

- Saturn in the 12th, 8th house or retrograde can indicate an emotionally absent father, 12th is always working or trying to find work. 8th house is usually some other complicated outside influences or even death.

- Depending on the house and aspects, Capricorn placements can indicate authority figures taking advantage of you, ex: drew berrymore has Capricorn mars (rich older men) in the 8th house (drugs + sex).

- Gemini placements within the 8th House can show a gender transition. This is because 8th house rules over sex and secrets, while Gemini is quite androgynous, and merges two different sides of the same coin. 8th house is quite literally about the biggest transformations in life. Air signs in general are very lgbt+

- Aquarius rising celebrities are usually forced into the spotlight and are made to feel like outcasts by their community/co-stars.

- Aries/mars energy on the ascendant (Sextile, trine, square even) have SIREN EYES!! They can communicate all their sexual tension through eye contact.

- **tw: suicide*** take good care of your Chiron conjunct mars friends. They battle a lot with addiction and suicidal thoughts, and have the impulsivity to go through with it.

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bodhranwriting · 9 months

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Oberon my Beloved. By Bodhrán M

“Oberon,” Eleanor said, “he’s still in the house.”

“Your house? The house -“

“- the house they’re breaking into, yes.”

Mal inhaled sharply. “Any chance…?”

Eleanor jammed the bullet into the chamber and thumbed the trigger. The click echoed in the alleyway and her heart jumped with it. “No. I swear, I’ve never seen that man move faster than an amble.” She seized the youth by the arm, dragging them in her wake. “Let’s go.”

There was someone in his workshop.

Oberon stood at the door, almost paralysed with bewilderment.

This was not part of the schedule. It was nearly six o’clock. He came in here every day at six o’clock to work on his projects and now there was a muscular young man dressed in a dark grey suit and green shirt standing in his workshop looking at his tools so he couldn’t do that.

It would be incredibly rude.

But then again, Oberon thought, he was looking at the tools. Maybe he a fellow student of the practical arts. Maybe he also liked long conversations about wood grains, and chisels, and very nice new hammers.

Brightening a little, Oberon put his box containing his shiny new hammer down beside him and gave a polite little cough.

The man turned as smoothly as a shark. When he saw Oberon, he smiled.

Oberon smiled too. “Hello, are you here for Eleanor? I’m terribly sorry if you’ve been abandoned. She tends to do that.”

The man tilted his head to the side, looking Oberon up and down.

He took a few steps towards him, ending up between him and the doorway.

“Mr Fitzrobert, I presume?”

“Yes,” Oberon said. “This is my workshop. If you’re a guest of Eleanor’s, you probably won’t find her in here.”

The man turned and - with a strange deliberation - closed the door. “Do you like it? Are you a dabbler yourself?” Oberon added hopefully.

“We’re not guests, Mr Fitzrobert,” the man said quietly. He was still smiling and Oberon couldn’t work out why. “But we were hoping that you and the lovely Mrs Fitzrobert could do us the great honour of becoming our guests.”

“Oh that’s very kind of you,” Oberon said, looking past the man to his half-made little sailboat. “But I think we’re both very busy at present. What about November? I think we’re both free in November.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know Eleanor’s schedule, but the wading birds are returning this month and I can’t miss that, so we could possibly take up your offer later in the year.” He could feel the frustration building up in his chest that this terribly rude man was still crowding him when he just wanted to get stuck in.

But the man only took a step closer, muttering under his breath. He reached inside his suit for something.

“Pardon?”

“I said,” the man snapped, “that they were right. You really are stupid.” The gun he pulled was small, but Oberon immediately recognised it as one of the nastier ones. “And I must insist that you come along with us at once.”

“But I have my boat to make -“ Oberon put his hand in the toolbox to emphasise his point.

“Fuck your bloody boat! Are you coming or do I have to shoot you in the knee?”

Oberon looked at him for a moment, considering it. Then he picked up his lovely shiny new hammer and hit the man in the temple.

#writeblr #writing #deaf #queer #fantasy #i’m writing a book #magical realism #1910s

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maccreadysbaby · 17 days

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A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER. Get ready for a bittersweet ending my friends 🥹 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT ON THIS PROJECT. It means so much to me🥹

part forty-six

❝ EVERYTHING IS OKAY? ❞

SUNDAY — SEPTEMBER 20 — 3:04PM

LIFE WENT LARGELY BACK TO NORMAL (IN IT'S TYPICAL STRANGE WAY).

The Secret Keeper was dead. The metahumans were released from mind control. Gotham was cleaning up, getting ready to rebuild. Everyone was okay.

For a while, Bentley was nothing more than a whole lot of sore. Everything hurt, like his internal organs and all. He was practically living off of ibuprofen and other painkillers. He wasn’t allowed to eat anything super hard to digest, so he’d been inhaling soup and jello and tea in favor of being in the least amount of pain possible.

Nico’s parents came to get him a few days after Bentley’s surgery. It was a dramatic reunion, as expected, and Bentley was glad about it. Nico seemed glad about it, too. They thanked Bruce for his help and took Nico home without a moment, to maybe, hopefully, talk things over.

Asten was staying at the Wayne Manor until further notice. Bruce had been talking to the right people and already had some kind of court date or something set up. Bentley wasn’t sure what that was all about (maybe something about sending Asten back to Brazil? Which would suck), but he did know that Asten was doing pretty good for a kid who’d been dead. He was more closed off and quiet than normal, and had refused a guest room in favor of sleeping on the other side of Bentley’s bed, but it was okay. Nico made sure to call them nearly every single day and talk about everything and nothing, which Asten seemed to enjoy. He’d be okay.

The Wayne family was there in full force to make sure Asten and Bentley were okay and taken care of and happy. Not a single Wayne stayed hidden, not a single one left — they all made sure to come to dinner every night and tell stupid stories, to have their nightly time in the den watching movies they’d all seen too many times already, to coax Alfred into playing games around the table with them, to hang out in the backyard with the dogs, to have huge spontaneous sleepovers downstairs when their movie marathon got a little out of hand. The Wayne’s were back to how they’d been when Bentley first got there. They were the real Wayne’s again.

And for the first time in a long time, everything was okay.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Nico showed up on the doorstep of Wayne Manor a week and one day after Bentley’s surgery with bad, bad news.

“You’re what?” Asten growled.

Nico looked down at the concrete beneath his shoes. His parents were behind him in their car, doors closed but windows rolled down, talking to Bruce, who was standing out next to the vehicle. Nico’s eyes and nose were red. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping — it was a nice, not freezing Monday afternoon. But that didn’t matter.

Nico scraped the toe of his tennis shoe across the concrete, not bringing his red-rimmed blue eyes up. “We’re moving.”

Bentley (decked out unabashedly in his sailboat pajamas) and Asten (also unashamedly wearing the same pjs he’d had on for at least two days) stared blankly; one shocked, the other on the edge of livid.

Nico was… leaving? Like really leaving and never coming back?

Bentley muttered: “Where?” At the same time Asten spat: “When?”

Nico still didn’t look up, but instead, stared at the bottoms of his black sweatpants. “Missouri. A week from today. My… parents don’t think it’s safe here anymore. They have friends there.”

Bentley glanced over at Asten, who was staring, calculatively. His green eyes flicked back to Nico’s parents’ car with the same fire in it that he had the day he knocked out Jesse Todryk. “Your parents' friends can piss right off.”

“Asten,” Bruce warned from the car (he really does have Batman ears). “Don’t make this harder than it already is for him.”

(Oh yeah, did Bentley mention that Bruce had already eased into dad-mode with Asten? Because he had. No one in the Manor expected much less, really.)

Nico kept staring dutifully at the ground.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, hardly audible, voice wavering slightly. He brought the sleeve of his blue hoodie up to rub at his eyes. “I… I don’t have a choice.”

As it became prominent he was crying, Bentley stepped up and hugged him. Nico didn’t bother putting his arms around him, choosing to instead keep covering his face, but Bentley didn’t mind.

One of Bentley’s only two friends was really leaving? For real?

Don’t. Freaking. Cry. That would make it so much worse for him. Bentley blinked back a dull sting behind his eyes and forced it away.

They were all quiet for a minute.

“I told them everything. It’s my fault we’re leaving,” Nico muttered, bringing his arms up and around Bentley after a moment. “They-they said there’s someone in Central City that will train me. The same guy that saved my life when I was a baby.”

Bentley hummed. Didn’t the super fast guy who was on the Justice League with Bruce live in Central City?

There was no way Nico was going to train with The Flash, was there?

(Was the Barry from the adoption letter The Flash?)

Bentley rubbed his back lightly. “That’ll be good for you.”

He and Asten shared brief eye contact, during which Bentley made his best please just be supportive face, and after a moment, Asten walked away, disappearing back into the manor without a single word.

Bentley sighed lightly.

“Asten’s pissed,” Nico muttered, and he felt Nico grab onto the back of his shirt. “I knew he would be.”

“He’s just sad,” Bentley tried, rubbing his back a little again. “He is your best friend.”

“And so are you. It’s like they don’t even care that I’m having to leave you guys behind. That this affects more than just me,” Nico groaned in annoyance.

Bentley breathed in, glancing at Nico’s parents’ car. They were smiling, chatting with Bruce. “If it’s going to be better and safer for you, then… I’d rather you go.”

Nico pulled away from him, giving him a deadpan look. “No offense, Bentley, but if you were told it would be better for someone if you cut off your own legs with a handsaw, you’d do it.”

“I would not,” Bentley argued, and Nico wiped at his watery eyes. A moment of silence passed.

“This isn’t really something we can change, so we should make the best of it, right?” Bentley questioned. “Maybe you can come over one more time before you leave.”

“Maybe… I’ll ask,” Nico replied, sighing lightly, running a hand through his hair. “I hate this.”

“It’ll be okay,” Bentley reassured. (But would it really be okay?) “We can talk to you on the phone every day.”

“But Asten-“

“Trust me, we’ll take care of Asten,” Bentley replied, attempting the patented Bruce Wayne reassuring smile. “You’re going to a new place to train with someone who has superpowers, away from creepy Gotham and Jesse Todryk and supervillains. I think it’ll be great. And you can call us whenever you want to.”

Nico sniffled, then stared at the ground. “But, Asten’s whole family got killed and now his best friend is leaving. What if this, like, pushes him over an edge? Again?”

Bentley shrugged lightly. “We have a Jason for that.”

“Bentley, I’m serious,”

“So am I,” He replied, glancing back at the car momentarily. “Everything will be okay here.”

“What if I don’t want it to be okay?” Nico questioned, catching Bentley off-guard. Their eyes met and there was some level of hurt in his blue irises. “What if I want you guys to need me here?”

Bentley sighed lightly, blinking a few times, looking around. “You’re our friend. We’ll always need you.”

“You can say that now, but we’re all just going to forget about each other in a few years. That’s what happens every time I move,” Nico muttered, crossing his arms.

“We broke into our teacher’s cabin, got kidnapped and turned into metahumans, and went into a war zone together. I don’t think there’s much of a risk of us forgetting each other,” Bentley stated, snickering lightly. “It’ll-“

“Yeah, but one day you’re going to have a bunch of new friends and just say something like oh yeah once me and this blonde kid played superhero. That’s always what happens when someone moves. And I’m just going to be stuck at home being homeschooled and doing nothing forever.”

“Nico, we’ve gotta go, bud!” His father called from the driver's side window.

Bentley sighed lightly, glancing back at Nico, whose eyes were watering again. “Nico, I promise I will not forget about you, okay? None of us will. We’ll talk all the time.”

Nico nodded in response, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he turned and silently made for the car, passing Bruce on the way, who patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Bentley watched Nico climb in the car, and Bruce made his way back to the manor, settling with him in the doorway.

The car pulled off.

One of Bentley’s first ever friends was leaving.

Bruce’s hand landed between his shoulder blades and rubbed his back there. “You okay, chum?”

“I don’t think so,”

(He didn’t cry until Nico’s car was long gone.)

—

SUNDAY — SEPTEMBER 27 — 2:23PM

Asten was pissed for the whole week. Whatever small progress had been made to pull him out of his shell and help open him up after his uncle’s death disappeared completely. He was back to hardly talking to anyone, like he had been right after he’d started staying there. (Bentley pretended to be asleep when he heard Asten crying the night after Nico told them.)

He still came to dinner and the den and everything, but he just wasn’t talking. Not when Bentley tried, not when Jason tried, not when Bruce or Dick tried.

But, even with Asten in silence, time went on too fast. Days passed where Nico called just to cry and Asten never said anything, so Bentley took up the comforting role as best he could. Astern didn’t talk again until Nico came over on Sunday afternoon, to spend some time with them before he left on Monday morning.

Bruce was in town for the court time he had set up. Dick had gone back to Bludhaven for the day and would be back for dinner. Damian was very obviously hiding and avoiding the emotional mess. Jason and Tim had gone somewhere (Together? Which was weird. And suspicious. Bentley was pretty sure they were trying to avoid an explosion, too.) which meant that, besides the dogs and Alfred, who appeared occasionally, there was no mediator. So the time Nico was over was mostly spent in the front courtyard in silence. The dogs were playing with each other in the sunny grass in front of Wayne Manor, running the driveway and having the time of their little lives, but Bentley, Nico, and Asten were sitting quietly on the stairs. Saying nothing. Doing nothing.

Nico was obviously not taking the move well. As soon as he’d arrived, it was obvious by the flushing on his face that he’d been crying again. Bentley would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little. After all, Nico was literally one of his first friends ever. They’d been through a lot of crazy crap together, and he was being dragged away because of it. (Did that mean it was technically Bentley’s fault he was moving?) Not to mention how much Asten had been through with him.

It didn’t matter anymore anyways, they couldn’t change his parents' minds.

For now, they settled for sitting on the steps. In silence.

For a while.

Until Nico exhaled shakily, on the verge of crying again. “This is torture.”

Bentley, completely clueless as to what he should say, scooted closer to him and squeezed his shoulder instead.

“It’ll be okay,” Was what he settled on whispering.

“No it won’t,” Was Nico’s quick response. “It’ll be a nightmare. How am I supposed to just leave? Asten’s practically lived with me for two entire years. We’ve gone through so much crap in these past few months and they just want to take me away? Without asking? Most of my life has been in Gotham and now they want to change that?”

Bentley hummed. “Have you told them that?”

“Yeah. They’re all like we understand honey but it’s not safe here anymore,” Nico mocked. “They don’t even-“

At that very moment, Nico’s parents drove through the gate of Wayne Manor.

It suddenly hit Bentley that he might never see him again.

As soon as Nico saw the car, he started full-on crying, hard.

The three of them stood up as Nico’s parents approached like they were about to get sentenced to prison. Nico turned on a dime and hugged Bentley, hard, and Bentley hugged him back.

“I’m so sorry,” Nico muttered. Bentley blinked a few times, trying to be strong and subdue the faint burn that was surfacing behind his eyes.

“It’s okay,” He replied, in a whisper, just in case his voice were to break.

After a minute, the car pulled up to the house, and Nico pulled away, glancing over at Asten. “I… I’m so sor-“

Before he could finish, Asten grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“You’re going to be the most epic superhero ever,” He said, though his face was mostly hidden, and Bentley assumed it was because his voice was a little thick. “I’m... gonna miss you.”

As if Nico wasn’t crying hard enough already. He pulled an arm out of the embrace and extended it toward Bentley, offering him one last hug.

Bentley accepted, engaging in the very first group hug of his life. (He liked it. He would’ve liked it more if they weren’t all almost crying, though.)

“Nico, bud, it’s time to go,” Came his father’s voice.

They all separated, looking around with slight horror on their features. Asten was crying, too — only a little, but he did have real, actual tears on his face. Nico was sobbing and kept hiding his face away in his hands. Whatever will to be strong in front of them that Bentley had kept up cracked, and he started crying, too.

Nico didn’t say anything else on the way to the car.

Bruce pulled into the driveway.

There was a long time where no one said anything. Bruce parked and went to Nico’s parents’ window to bid them goodbye, and Asten and Bentley stood on the steps, silently.

The car left.

Bruce approached the manor with that same sympathetic look on his face that he always had when something like this happened. He was in a nicely pressed suit from his time at court, his hair sleek and perfected. He climbed the stairs and settled between Bentley and Asten, watching Nico’s car go down the driveway and disappear down the road with them.

Now their trio was down to two.

Bentley hiccuped lightly, and he felt Bruce’s hand land on the back of his head.

What were they going to do now?

—

Dinner was only a little quieter that night. Everybody was aware and considerate of Bentley and Asten, that they might not be up for much talking, which was nice, because everybody was still talking to each other. Sometimes it made Bentley feel better just to listen.

He and Asten had been at a loss pretty much all day, settling down for the most part in the den to sit and halfway watch movies. It was weird, knowing that they wouldn’t see Nico anymore. And it kind of really sucked?

At the dinner table, Bentley was sitting between Asten and Damian, directly across from Dick, who was between Jason and Tim. Duke, Steph, and Cass were on the end of the table, Steph at the head opposite from Bruce. Of course, it was Dick who was doing most of the storytelling and joke making. Alfred had made spaghetti for dinner again (given that it was both Bentley and Asten’s favorites.) and it was really good.

It would be okay. It would — his family was alive and fine and happy. It would be okay.

“I have an announcement to make,” Bruce said suddenly, and the table quieted, everyone’s eyes drifting over to him. His icy irises flicked around the table warily. “As you all know, I went to court today to address the issue of sending Asten back to Brazil, to be put in the foster care system there. There were Gotham and São Paulo officials there who were… mostly inclined to send him back to his home country.”

Bentley deflated like a balloon.

The trio couldn’t turn to one already.

He saw Asten deflate, too, immediately hanging his head.

“…And I won,”

The table suddenly burst into excited chatter, and both Bentley and Asten’s heads came up with a snap. Bruce was looking straight at Asten now, that Bruce Wayne smile on his face.

“I won emergency custody of you, Asten,”

Asten cried at the dinner table.

(Everything was okay.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

thank you all SO MUCH for supporting me and my boys🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I could never ask for better readers and friends🥰

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elbiotipo · 9 months

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There's this tendency in some science fiction to go all retro or put stops in some technology, ironic for such a genre. Even myself am guilty of it with Campoestela (different for the Biopunks). It's because the future is coming too fast and it's tiring to keep up. It really is.

Science Fiction, at its core is about "stories where science and technology change human life", at least, that's the definition I treat it with. The thing is, there's so many technologies changing us, so fast, that it's just impossible to keep up. In the 50s, you could keep up, for example, with space rockets and atomics. You could imagine a future where things were mostly the same, except with rockets and nuclear stuff. In 2023, you have to imagine rockets, AIs, climate change, biotechnology, nanotechnology, demographic and social crisis... I mean, you had to consider that in the 50s, too. But the pace of technologic advancement is so fast right now, that you just can't keep up. To create a world that it's just "like today, but with X", doesn't make sense anymore.

And then you just want adventure. You just want the space adventure thing, and fucking Mars and Venus suck, so you have to go to other stars to get your fix, and you don't care how. You want A Guy to go to strange new worlds and meet aliens and have moral dilemmas about it, without caring too much, if at all, about the technology to do so, and how it changes society. And that's not longer, in a way science fiction. You might as well give him magical sailboats that go through the aether (I have, in a couple projects, done just that). You might as well explain it with magic.

But that's not who I am. I despise the "it's magic lmao" shortcut.

I am here, calculating the delta-V and the space infrastructure necesary so that A Guy can be a space trucker. It's fun to me. To build a world, fantastic, but wholly coherent.

#cosas mias #there's a lot about the space adventure kind of science fiction that is fed by orientalism in the 'adventure' genre and manifest destiny #but that's for another post #science fiction

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becca4leafclover · 5 months

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Beach Walk is Complete!

What started as a simple idea to try out streaming with has turned into something genuinely really cool! I had almost no idea of what I wanted to do with this space when I started but as I built one thing after another, it fell into place!

Going to do a full tour of the district under the cut!

This is sort of the transition into the Beach Walk district, going from the standard build style of blue and white into the mixed styles of the harbour. It's mostly just a pretty in-between area but MAN is it PRETTY!

The lighthouse! The first thing I actually built on stream! It was a challenge to get the purple-hued blues to work because there's SO few of them in Minecraft, but with (a lot) of help from chat it turned out great and gave me the confidence to keep going with all of this!

this was actually the LAST area I worked on, because I wasn't sure what to put here. It was where I'd been keeping my block palettes to be honest LOL I decided to keep it simple with a sign designating the area, and a strange tree that it's unclear whether the lighthouse was designed like it or if the tree took after the lighthouse...

The docks, where small boats are kept! Completely honest it's really hard to take a good picture of the docks OR the boats. But we got a nice speedboat, a sailboat, and a classic swanboat, because why not?

The strip mall! From right to left a souvenir shop, clothing store, sandwich shop, and the club! The idea was to have each building be in the gradient of colors of copper, and while that didn't QUITE work each building ended up working well anyway!

At the end of the Walk is a nice nice cream stand and some umbrellas and loungers! Why here you might ask?

The beach is right below it!

I decided to do a gravel beach over a sand one because this entire town is in a colder climate, not tropical. And while I'm sure this isn't everywhere, when I've travelled it's been colder places that have rock beaches over sand ones! Plus, sand wouldn't quite fit as well in my humble opinion.

I had to terraform in this entire beach (even though this biome was originally a gravel beach lol), and MAN did working with gravity blocks SUCK. Remind me not to do that again.

Now, if I'm being honest, this isn't FULLY done. I have this space on the back side of the strip shopping to fill, and I'm not sure what to put! Maybe some kind of games court? Making up fantasy games and sports is harder than it looks to be honest. I'm thinking I'll come back to this area later, once I get some refreshment working on other things!

If you want to follow this world's progress as I move onto new projects, I stream every weekend, Friday and Saturday at 3 PM EST!

#becca rambles #becca mines and crafts #minecraft #minecraft screenshots #minecraft build #minecraft shaders

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sipsteainanxiety · 2 years

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give my all (to you) [1] || katsuki b.

pairing: merman!bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 8.6k+

mentions: no pronouns used, scientist reader, second person, this is fashionably late but i blame my broken laptop, not edited, hey rmb when i said the estimated wc would be 20k... that was a lie...

masterlist

One of the perks of the university you went to was the immense funding of graduate research projects. All you needed was a proposal, a list of materials, and a contract stating that you would not abuse the money funded to you for purposes other than research. If they deemed your thesis worthy, you would be given a package that could either partially or fully fund your project. You were lucky enough to be considered and chosen as one of the students to receive full funding with your proposal centered around ocean acidification and the effects it had on coral reefs. One rented sailboat and set of scuba diving gear later, you found yourself drifting lazily out in the vast waters of the Pacific Ocean with nothing but the marine life for company.

Of course, the only thing you could do out here was collect and document samples. Most of the analysis had to be done back at the university building, where all the proper equipment for checking general water chemistry—like salinity and carbonic acid levels—were stored. You did have some high-powered microscopes to inspect the water and coral, so you supposed there was still something you could do as you sailed back and forth from the shore and open waters. In hindsight, though, there wasn’t really much for you to do out here other than swim around and record the numerous species littering the reefs near the ocean floor. You didn’t mind; you considered this a much needed vacation from the cruel life of a student in grad school. And if your money-hungry university was funding everything then hey, who were you to not take at least some advantage?

The first week, two weeks, was nothing but smooth sailing. You stayed out for a week or so taking samples, monitoring coral growth rates, and exhausting your food supply, then you would head back to the university to take a few day’s break to do some analysis and update your mentor. The routine persisted, and you had fallen into a state of expectancy towards the blissful nothingness that awaited you in the miles and miles of salt water and open air.

What you didn’t expect, however, was the fucking mermaid. Or rather, the merman.

For the entirety of week three, there were times when you felt you were being watched. This was odd since you were sure there was no one but you out on the ocean—unless you were being spied on by a dolphin, which you doubted. You’d first noticed it as you were numbering vials of ocean water out on the deck, papers, pens, and tubes scattered all around you. At the time, you’d just brushed it off, thinking that the heat of the sun was just getting to you. Now though, the burning feeling of being stared at was too persistent to be ignored.

As you scuba dived near the bright and colorful reefs a few days after that first occurrence, you could’ve sworn you kept seeing something dark and... large swimming at the very corner of your vision. You chalked it up to a dolphin again, maybe a curious shark, but something in your gut twisted at the thought of it possibly being something else. In curiosity or fright, you would never know, but you were all too aware that getting hurt while you were in the middle of the ocean was not the ideal situation to be in.

What you did come to eventually notice was the diminishing amount of coral samples you had collected over the few weeks you had been out on the open waters. By ‘diminishing amount’ you meant they were just. Completely gone. At first you thought you had simply misplaced them, but after scouring your little boat from top to bottom, left to right, front to back, you realized they weren’t anywhere to be found. What you did find, however, were empty, labeled jars scattered around the deck. The very same jars you had been using to put the samples in. This wouldn’t have been so concerning if you had company, but you were alone and starting to wonder if you were either very forgetful or… well, you didn’t even want to consider the other option.

The entire situation was puzzling, especially since it hadn’t been a problem for the first three weeks you had been collecting the coral samples. You scratched your head at the predicament and decided to just collect some more, this time making sure you had documented and stored them properly in the special thermoregulated box you had purchased. A few days later, however, they were gone, plucked right from the box as though they had never been put in there in the first place, and the jars once more were scattered along your boat.

Now, you wouldn’t call yourself mental or delirious at this moment, but you were really starting to wonder if staying out in the blazing sun all day was a good idea.

It wasn’t until you woke up one night to the motion of your boat canting to the side that you finally uncovered the truth behind the missing samples. And boy, you would’ve believed that they had just grown legs and walked away rather than this.

Blinking rapidly in the dim lighting provided by the full moon, you slowly raised yourself from your little cottage bed, trying to prevent yourself from rolling to the side as the boat leaned heavily to the right. You could practically hear your heart pounding in your chest as something heavy slapped itself onto what sounded like the deck. Frozen in place, you waited as the boat swayed side to side before assuming its original upright position. The boat’s cabin, where you slept, was separated from the outside deck by a door. It brought you a little bit of comfort, knowing that whatever had heaved itself onto your boat couldn’t see you (and hopefully get to you if it happened to be dangerous).

Breathing bated, you listened to what sounded like slithering sounds coming from beyond the door, mind racing with the possibilities of what could be out there. Maybe a curious octopus? A seal? You were stumped. Part of you really wanted to know what the fuck kind of marine animal had managed to pull itself onto your boat, but the other part just wanted to hide under your blankets and hope it would eventually go away. Those two parts battled it out for a few moments before you eventually found yourself silently tossing off the covers, bare feet coming into contact with the cool, wooden floor of the boat.

As quietly as you possibly could, you crept up the few stairs to the door, keeping your stance slightly slouched as you neared the small, circular window positioned near the top of it. Most of the moonlight was coming from that little section of glass, allowing you to be able to see the outside somewhat better. And what you saw made you slap a hand over your mouth to prevent a gasp from escaping into the quiet night.

The first thing that caught your attention was the long, sleek, gradient-esque tail that glistened in the moon’s dim lighting. It was massive, spanning nearly the entire width of your boat. If you had to provide an estimate, you would say it was at least two meters long and consisted of approximately a quarter of a ton of pure muscle. Your eyes trailed from the dark, wispy tip of the tail, all the way to the middle of the creature’s body, where tangerine scales shifted gradually into sculpted skin. Human skin.

You were looking at a fucking merman.

I must be dreaming or something, you thought to yourself as you stared at him. He had the upper torso of a pro swimmer, muscles defined all along a lean torso that had rather broad shoulders. His skin was a light tan color and speckled with more tangerine scales, droplets of water dripping down from his chest and arms as he hovered over a hatch on the deck that led to a small storage space that contained all your research materials. Ash-blond, wet hair was plastered around his gilled neck and head, framing a sharply angled face with an expression that was pulled into a scowl. At first, you looked at him in awe, mind failing to comprehend the idea of merpeople existing in the depths of the ocean. Then, once you realized he was rummaging around and plucking your coral samples right from their box, your eyes narrowed.

So this was the cause of your missing work.

Now, you had two choices here. You could either confront this creature, beat the shit out of it for stealing your stuff, and go back to sleep unharmed. Or you could think about beating the shit out of it and just go straight to bed. You weighed both options heavily in your mind, eyes darting from the merman’s sharp claws, to his frankly terrifying look, and arms that could easily snap your neck like a twig. Then you looked at the jars he was scooping out of the box, weeks of work being tossed down the drain. Sure you could just change location and hope you would never see this fucking thing again, but it would set your project back by months and you did not have the time to spare. Mind made up, you took a deep breath and promptly slammed the cabin door open.

“Hey!” you shouted with more gusto than you were sure you had, hands on your hips as you set your expression into the fiercest one you could muster. You didn’t dare step closer, watching as he turned his head sharply to glare right at you with burning crimson eyes. Swallowing down your unease, you glared right back. “The fuck do you think you’re doing? That’s weeks of work you’re taking!”

He growled, a deep thing that rumbled from within his chest and made the hairs on your arms stand straight up. You didn’t let yourself waver, continuing to frown at him even as he raised himself up further with his tail, scarred arms loaded with jars. You crossed your arms as he used his tail to push himself over to you, internally screaming at just how much larger he was than you, your form completely drowned in his shadow alone. Please let me be dreaming. He looked down at you, lips pulled back in a snarl that showed off his shark-like teeth. This close proximity to you allowed you to see the thin, orange fins attached to the sides of his head—fins that were fanned out in a way that made him look even more threatening. Suddenly, you were feeling regretful.

When all he did was glare harshly at you, the hair on his head practically standing up straight, you decided you couldn’t just stand there in silence, waiting for him to either leave or bitch slap your body into the ocean. Huffing through your nose, you pointed to the jars. “I need those for a project I’m doing, and I can’t analyze them if your bitchass keeps stealing them before I can properly document them.” Could he even understand you? Judging by the way his gaze went down to the jars, then back up to your face only to narrow even further, you guessed he could.

“‘Stealing’?” he hissed out and you nearly had a heart attack at how pissed he sounded. Well, you didn’t know how he could speak English back to you, but you weren’t going to question the angry merman. “S’not yours.”

“What are you talking about, those are my samples—”

“Not fuckin’ yours,” he growled out louder than before and without even waiting for your reply, he dove into the ocean, using his tail to push himself over the railing of the boat in an arc that sent water splashing onto the deck. You gaped at the spot where he disappeared under the darkness of the water, your clothes slightly wet from the splash. For a few seconds, you just stood there, watching as the ripples from his landing in the water extended outwards. Then you made your way to the still-open hatch to check the contents of the box. It was completely empty. Cursing under your breath, you stood up and debated on what to do, but before you could even form a coherent thought, something hard hit the back of your head.

“What the—” You spun around abruptly only to let out a yelp and duck down as the jars that’d been holding your samples came sailing through the air towards you. Thank god they were plastic and not glass. “Did you seriously dump all my stuff?” you yelled out as you shot back up to your feet and sent a glare at the stupid merman whose head was just above the glistening water.

He glared at you, acting like he didn’t just purposely throw those jars at your head. “Shitty human. Damaging reefs.”

“It’s not—” You took a deep breath as your mind connected the dots of what he was trying to say. This must’ve looked really bad from his perspective. You felt kind of bad now. “Okay, look, I’m sorry if it seems like I’m harming the reefs, but I’m actually trying to help them by conducting research. I can take smaller samples if you want, but I just can’t not take any.” You tried your best to squint out at him through the moonlight, seeing him still staring at you.

“‘Help’?” he echoed, the word sounding more like a gruff statement than a question. You bit your lip as you thought about how to explain yourself in a way that would stop the merman from harassing you like this. Maybe you could scare him off by using a bunch of scientific jargon, but judging by his looks, it’d probably be safe to say it wouldn’t be easy to do so.

“Okay”—you sighed out, stepping a little bit closer to the rail of the boat so you could see the merman’s head easier—“basically, carbonic acid, which forms when carbon dioxide dissolves into the ocean and combines with water—” Off you went, explaining what was essentially equated as the abstract to your paper. You kept an eye on his expression, trying to gauge his thoughts on the topic, but it seemed like it was forever set in an irate look, so you didn’t know what was possibly going through his head. It likely was a good sign that he stuck around long enough for you to word vomit your thesis, but you doubted he understood a majority of what you were saying.

“—so by comparing my results with a paper from years ago we can see the effects of ocean acidification and start building on ideas to help coral reefs and… yeah…” You cleared your throat awkwardly, aware that you had talked so much your tongue had gotten dried out and the sky was starting to lighten ever so slightly. You stared at the merman, waiting for him to say, well, anything really. He stared back at you some more, his jaw shifting a bit before he promptly spat salt water at your face and ducked back under the water. You spluttered and blinked at the spot he disappeared, waiting for him to resurface, but when he didn’t, you huffed in exasperation, face dripping wet.

Merman or not, this guy was fucking rude.

The following morning, you were preparing for another dive to gather more samples to replace the ones you’d lost. You didn’t have any time to waste, especially since you’d been set back by weeks. Part of you really didn’t want to go in the water knowing there was a pissed merman swimming around, but the other part was curious. Actual merpeople? Living in the ocean? It was interesting, and the scientific side of you was itching to learn more—if you hadn’t dreamt it all up, that is.

Were you even sure that had all happened? It seemed less and less real, the more you thought about it, but the empty jars scattered on your deck proved otherwise. You knew what you saw, and you trusted yourself. You’d be fine. Probably.

You were still wary of trapping yourself in the water with a creature that clearly had an advantage. But you figured if he hadn’t harmed you last night, he had no reason to do so today. Hopefully. Just in case though, you stashed a small dagger in your diving pouch. For self defense, of course.

After ensuring the anchor was lowered, tugging on your wetsuit, checking your equipment, and gathering all the proper materials you needed, you slipped into the cool water and bobbed gently on the surface. You adjusted your dive mask and put the regulator into your mouth, doing another check on your oxygen tank and pressure gauges before finally ducking into the water.

The depths of the ocean never failed to amaze you every time you opened your eyes to take it all in. Once you adjusted to the shifting colors of teal, cerulean, and turquoise that surrounded you, a whole other world was revealed. Little striped fishes, the occasional turtle, sometimes even a dolphin would swim by as you dove deeper down to the floor of the ocean. Luckily, the reef you had been collecting samples from was not too far from the surface, so the sun’s rays were still able to reach you and provide light.

You found yourself hovering around a section of the reef that you hadn’t taken samples from yet. There were brightly colored anemones scattered here and there, waving gently through the water amongst patches of coral that reminded you of a brain. There was also a group off to your left that looked like long strands of red hair. Not too far from that were ones that looked like the sun, with yellow petals that extended outwards from the top of a stumpy, purple base. You had a camera on your boat to take pictures of the reefs to look out for coral bleaching over an extended period of time, but you only needed to use it once every week or so. No point in taking pictures every time you dove down—you’d have to sort through too many photos otherwise and it would be hard to see any minute differences in the reefs anyways.

There were some clown fishes darting around before you, along with the occasional shrimp and seahorse that swam away from your much larger form. You looked down at the diving pouch attached to your hip and opened it up so you could grab a small tube from one of the velcro loops inside of it, along with a pair of tweezers. These were the same tubes you used to collect water—only now, thanks to a certain pissed off merman, you were using it to store smaller pieces of coral. Honestly, those samples you’d been taking before in the plastic jars hadn’t even been that large. You rolled your eyes to yourself and glanced at the label you’d already put on the tube you withdrew so you could check what species of coral you’d designated it to.

A. cervicornis (Staghorn). You glanced around until you spotted the familiar, cylindrical branches of the Staghorn and swam towards it. Before you had even started taking samples from this particular reef, you had documented all the species of coral so you could prelabel your jars and tubes. It just made everything easier for you in the long term.

Fumbling only slightly, you uncorked the little tube and watched as the air inside was displaced by salt water. With it grasped in one hand and the tweezers grasped in the other, you leaned closer to the Staghorn and reached out to pick off the teeniest, tiniest chunk from the tip of one of its branches.

Only, before you could, something large moved in your periphery.

To your credit, you jerked to the side only slightly, wary if the thing was a shark that’d crept up on you or something. But no, it was the merman, looking just as pissed as ever once you snapped your head to the left to see him. You froze, one arm still extended out to the coral branch as you made eye contact with him and his bright crimson eyes.

Last night’s lighting hadn’t done him justice at all.

He really was fucking huge, basically dwarfing you in the water. The tangerine scales that littered his torso and made up a majority of his tail looked nearly gold in the sunlight filtering through the ocean. It was interesting seeing the way his tail followed an ombré gradient, ending with wispy, black flukes. His ash-blond hair waved delicately around his head and moved with the gentle flow of the current. You’d call him pretty if he wasn’t glaring at you so harshly, a suspicious look on his face.

Well, you thought wryly to yourself, at least now I know he’s real for sure I guess.

You watched as he slowly—fluidly—swam around you in a circle in a motion that was reminiscent of a shark circling its prey. His tail carried him forward in powerful movements, the muscles flexing constantly throughout it. His eyes moved to squint at the items in your hands, then at the goggles that covered your eyes and the regulator you held in your mouth. You didn’t dare move a muscle—you wanted to see if he would do anything. But after glaring at you for what felt like hours, he just swam over to the side of the reef directly opposite of you, and watched you through the coral.

You entered this sort of strange staring contest with him, waiting in case he did something else. When it became apparent that he wouldn’t, however, you decided to simply resume what you came here to do. This was fine. He could stare at you all he wanted, but it wasn’t going to stop you from working on your research.

With that, you plucked a tiny piece of coral from the Staghorn branch, then quickly stored it in the tube before recorking it. The merman was raptly watching your movements when you briefly looked at him, his eyes tracking the motions of your hands. You glanced down at the little waterproof watch you had attached to your wrist and pressed a little button at the side of it to mark the time of collection. Afterwards, you placed the tube back in your diving pouch, making sure to velcro it in its given spot so it wouldn’t float away. One down, nine more to go.

You kept an eye on the merman as you grabbed another empty tube, then read the name off of it so you could locate the next coral species you needed. H. coerulea (Blue coral). Off you went, swimming around in search of the familiar blue-branched species as your unexpected companion slowly followed after you. He kept his distance, of course, never getting too close or too far. But he was so focused and unrelenting in his gaze that you felt you were being assessed or something. He did this the entire time you were around the reef and only until you started to swim back up towards the surface so you could decompress did he finally dart away into the distance.

And so began the strange experience of being tailed by a merman.

Any time you ended up scuba diving in the ocean, he was always somewhat nearby, his—frankly unsettling—stare focused on you in an instant. You figured he wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you weren’t taking any larger coral samples, if your first encounter was any indication. But he not only appeared as you were using your tweezers on different species, but also as you were installing calcification accretion units to measure calcium carbonate levels and coral growth rates. He even followed you as you took water samples and measured temperatures! Those didn’t even require you to be near the reefs!

He just never followed you when you were heading to the surface, not that you blamed him. Sometimes, though, as you sat on your deck writing down your evidence in your little science journal or monitoring your equipment, you could swear you’d see a head pop out of the water to watch you for a few seconds. Then it would be gone.

You supposed he was curious—or at least, that was what you wanted to think. He probably didn’t see many humans, which was fair. You didn’t see a lot of merpeople either. You both were equally as curious of each other, probably. Your gaze tended to drift to him swimming off to your side anytime you were in the water, watching his smooth motions and observing the way his tail propelled him through the water. He could probably crush you, rip you to shreds, if you thought about it. The idea was unsettling.

It wasn’t like you purposely went looking for him anyways. He just—showed up! Like he knew you were going to be there. Or maybe he was keeping a closer eye on you than you thought. You didn’t know if you should feel honored or alarmed that a very obvious predator of the sea was constantly watching you—you saw his sharp teeth and his strange, black claws. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with and you tried your best to keep your distance.

One day, however, you noticed he kept getting closer and closer.

Where he used to watch you from the opposite side of the reef anytime you were down here before, now he was practically right next to you. He’d even swim closer whenever you just wanted to roam around and watch the marine life. Maybe he was just getting bolder, you didn’t know. Maybe he wanted to intimidate you even further. Either way, you did your best to not be too bothered by him. If he wanted to watch you up close, then who were you to stop him? You could pretend that he was a curious dolphin or something.

He didn’t always stay close to you. There were days where he just didn’t interact or follow you at all, preferring to keep his distance. There were also days where he just wouldn’t show up. You didn’t mind, but it still made you wonder what he was thinking. He was surprisingly non-conversational—the first encounter you had with him was the most you’d heard him speak by far, and he hadn’t even said much in hindsight! To be fair, though, you were underwater most of the times when he’d show up. You couldn’t exactly hear him, especially when you had your dive mask protecting your ears.

Things between the two of you finally started to shift one day when you saw a turtle swimming around with a plastic bag wrapped around its shell.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to see a bunch of garbage floating around here and there. Hell, you’d even see plastic water bottles sticking out between coral branches sometimes. You always tried to clean up, even just a little, by collecting whatever trash you saw and storing it in a bag on your boat to throw away the next time you went to the shore.

So when you saw this poor turtle struggling to swim around due to a dumb fucking bag, you couldn’t help but to reach out to it.

The turtle had been trying to swim away from you as you attempted to get close to it, but somehow you managed to catch it and rip through the flimsy plastic to free its shell and flippers. It seemed much happier as it freely swam away, and you stared down at the plastic in your hand before you rolled your eyes and made your way back to the surface to toss the thing onto your boat.

A few days later, you were sitting on the edge of the deck, letting your feet dangle off the side of your boat to graze the water as you enjoyed the warmth from the sun and ambiance of the ocean. Your journal was sitting neatly on your lap as you bent slightly over it and scratched in the timestamps from your watch as well as the temperatures you’d recorded from the air and water for that day. You hadn’t seen the merman for a bit, seeing that you just spent the last few days monitoring your equipment and looking at samples with your microscope.

So imagine your surprise when you glanced up at the water only to see half a head peering at you from a few meters away.

You almost jolted in surprise, but you caught yourself and instead raised an eyebrow at the merman. His ash-blond hair was covering most of what you could see, but that didn’t stop him from continuing that strange stare of his. You haven't had the chance to look at him in the daytime eye-to-eye like this, so it was kind of weird when you both prolonged your eye contact. When his expression wasn’t scrunched up in anger, he had a very… inhuman feel to him. You didn’t know how to describe it—he was just eerily still in a way that felt unnatural. He was a merman, of course, so that was expected. But it was so easy to forget he wasn’t a human when he just looked so much like one—at least from the waist up.

It was creepy, you had to admit.

“What’s up?” you ended up asking the merman when he made no further motion to get closer or disappear back into the water. There had to be a reason why he was here now, right? He’d never done this before. The fins on his head moved towards you when you spoke and he raised his head further up from the water so that you could see the rest of his face. He looked unhappy, and for a moment you wondered what the fuck you could’ve done this time to upset him. But then he swam closer to you and lifted one of his webbed hands so that he could brandish a crushed Coke can.

You blinked at him, then stared at the can. “Uhh…” He waved his hand almost impatiently at you and let out an irritated clicking sound. You hesitantly reached out and took the can from him. “...Thanks?” He blinked at you—not a normal, human blink, but a sideways one with a second pair of eyelids that appeared translucent—then ducked back under the water.

You stared at the spot he disappeared. That was weird. You moved your gaze to the red can you held in your hand, then set it off to the side. You’d throw it away later.

From then on, the merman started bringing you trash. Crushed cans, plastic bottles, fishing lines, anything and everything that was man made. You caught on to what he was doing pretty quickly, but you found that you didn’t mind all too much. You didn’t expect him to initiate such contact, but it was kind of nice. It made you feel special, dumb as it sounded. You almost looked forward to seeing him approach you with garbage, which—when you thought about it—honestly sounded rather sad. But you’d take it over him stealing your research any day.

You were sitting on your deck, inspecting the coral samples you’d placed in the thermoregulated box you had, when you heard a clicking sound.

At first you ignored it, chalking it up to some strange sound coming from the boat or a dolphin or something. After all, it wasn’t unusual for you to hear the occasional odd sound from the ocean life—you just learned to let it settle naturally in the background of things as you tended to your duties. You were determined to stay focused on your work—at least until you finished inspecting the tube you held in your hand. You scribbled down a few things in your journal, not even registering the next few irate clicking sounds. That is, until they evolved into something else.

“Oi.”

That certainly caught your attention.

You looked up and raised an eyebrow when you saw a familiar ash-blond head poking up from the side of your boat. He was holding himself up with his forearms on the deck, the top of his hair just barely brushing against the lowest bar of the railing along the boat’s perimeter. He really was getting bolder and bolder—you hadn’t seen him dare to touch the boat since the first night you’d met him.

“Oh?” you drawled, setting down the tube back in its box and closing it before you ventured to scoot closer to the merman. You sat cross-legged a few feet in front of him, still wary of his sharp claws. He frowned at you, his ear fins swiveling in your direction, but otherwise didn’t do anything. That was an improvement. “He speaks?”

He scowled, an intimidating thing that reminded you, yet again, that you were not dealing with a human. “‘Course I speak.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you snorted, “I’d been wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing or not.” You looked at him curiously, watching the way rivulets of salt water slid down his unblemished face and scarred arms. This was so strange to think about. “Where did you even learn English? Did someone teach you?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked that. The merman bared his teeth at you, a hiss escaping through them that had you raising your hands up in alarm. “Nunya business,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowed into slits. That was fine. If he wanted to be private about certain things then you could respect that.

“Okay, okay,” you soothed him as much as you could with your voice, trying to show that you’d meant no harm. You lowered your hands back to your lap, where they fiddled with the pages of your journal that you hadn’t realized you’d brought with you. “I get it. No questions.” Concerning more sensitive topics, anyways. You had a feeling a lot of things would be trial and error when it came to him.

The merman let out a hmph, but otherwise didn’t say anything else. You noticed his eyes had fallen from your face and you followed his gaze to see he was looking at your journal. He couldn’t have had books where he came from, right? Unless he had his own version of them. Either way, you curled your hands around your journal and lifted up the cover so you could flip through the pages. His eyes sharply tracked your movements, curious.

“Interested?” you asked with a small smile. His eyes darted up to your face then off to the side to feign disinterest. He let out a scoff, as though he hadn’t wanted you to catch him staring like that, but eventually he looked back and gave you another one of his unwavering looks. You’d take that as a reluctant yes. You scooted a bit closer and turned your journal around before setting it down between the two of you, its pages spread out and open.

“I write down all my research in here,” you said as you flipped slowly from page to page. He leaned up and closer, his squinted eyes moving from side to side as he traced over the charts and observations you’d written. You wondered if he understood any of it—if he could read as well as speak. “Growth rates, temperatures, descriptions, measurements… It’s all in here.” You tapped a finger on one of the drawing’s you’d done from memory of a coral bed. “I’m not the best artist, but anything helps.” He seemed to linger on the sketches especially—maybe since they were the most familiar to him.

You turned your head and pointed over at the thermoregulated box somewhere behind you. The merman followed your finger, his head tilting to the side so he could peer around you. “All those samples are gonna be taken back to my university so I can do some more analysis and stuff. Since I’m taking small pieces at the edges of the coral branches it’s not harming the reefs, so you don’t have to worry about that. They’ll grow back.”

He looked like he was processing what you were saying as his eyes flicked up to your face and down at your journal. They were such an interesting shade of red, you thought to yourself, as you took the moment to observe him. You wondered if they were that color to help him see better in the deeper depths of the ocean.

“Uni… vershity?” he mumbled rather gruffly, as though testing the word on his tongue.

“University,” you enunciated, trying not to feel too self-conscious as he watched the movements of your lips. “It's a school for older people, basically.”

He hummed in a way that you figured was meant to be nonchalant. But this—you were certain—let you know he was much more curious about human things than he was letting on. You hid a smile as you watched him tentatively rub his wet fingers on the deck to dry them, then reach out to lightly touch the pages of your journal.

And after you explained all that you could about what you’d been collecting, observing, writing, drawing, he looked up at you and told you his name. Succinctly, quietly. As though he wanted to give you something in return for all the things you’d taught him at that moment.

Then he disappeared, back into the ocean he came from.

Life with Katsuki around certainly kept you on your toes.

He started appearing more and more at the edge of your boat, his strong arms holding himself up as he watched you do your usual routine. You wondered how he never got tired from hanging off the side of the boat, but you supposed spending an entire life swimming around in the sea would make anyone’s upper body strength nearly immeasurable. You almost envied him, but well, you supposed your strengths lay elsewhere.

Sometimes Katsuki just stared, content with quietly observing you. It was a bit awkward at first, but you grew used to it. Besides, the company was nice—you hadn’t realized you’d been feeling a bit lonely out on the ocean until you had him constantly around. He didn’t need to speak, but just being at the edge of your periphery was enough.

There were times, though, where he would get curious and ask questions. He didn’t ask them like a normal person—merperson?—would, you noticed, but rather he’d impatiently make a sound until you looked at him and then obviously stare at something until you got the hint that he was asking what you were doing. Sometimes you’d act like you didn’t understand until he got all huffy and decided to use his voice. It was a bit amusing. You figured out pretty quickly that he still didn’t like to speak all too much. Maybe he was aware that his English wasn’t the best, maybe he was still wary of you, but you assumed that he’d eventually get comfortable the more he hung around you.

You started thinking of things you could show him to entertain him more. You spent one night hunting around in your cabin for something, anything. You didn’t really bring much, in hindsight. You had books you read when you weren’t doing research, but you didn’t think those would be particularly useful for him, seeing that he couldn’t read. You made a note to grab some more random items when you went back to the shore.

The next time you saw him, you ended up snatching a sketchbook you brought with you, along with a pencil and a small, white towel that he could use to wipe his hands.

“Okay, here we go,” you said cheerfully as you kneeled down and set the sketchbook in front of him. He eyed you curiously then looked down as you flipped open the book to a fresh page and started writing out the alphabet on it. He could try copying them if he didn’t want to draw. “I don’t have too many things to show you, unfortunately, but I figured you could try drawing or writing or something in this.” You finished scrawling out the letter ‘z’ then wrote out his name underneath it. After a quick moment of deliberation, you wrote your name as well.

You turned the book around so he could look at what you’d written. “This is the alphabet,” you said as you circled the pencil around the page. “This is your name.” You tapped the pencil on top of the neat Katsuki, then shifted it over. “And this is my name.” He stared at the page in interest and you set down the pencil in the crease of the book before you held out the small towel to him. “Use this to wipe your hands. So you don’t get the pages wet.”

You waited patiently as he squinted and tilted his head while he observed the towel. After he deemed it worthy of his grasp, he reached out a hand and snatched it from you so he could bring it closer to his face. You leaned back to give him some room and watched as the muscles in his biceps tensed. He lifted himself up some more so he could get a better hold on the deck with his elbows. Then he started patting down his forearm a bit awkwardly. Eventually, though, he got confident enough that he was able to towel off his arms and hands before tossing the towel back at you. It landed on your thigh. You had to suppress a smile.

“Good”—you pushed the sketchbook closer to him—”do whatever you want with it.”

With that, you stood up and brushed your pants off. You didn’t think he’d appreciate it if you watched him so closely as he wrote, so you gave him some space as you went off to tend to your own tasks. You did watch him out of your periphery at times, however, especially as he shifted more on top of the deck so he could grab the pencil. He rolled it between two fingers a bit, then stared at the sharpened tip. You bit on the inside of your lip to stop yourself from making a sound, then turned so you could grab your own journal. It was a bit entertaining to watch him observe things like this. He probably hadn’t seen a pencil before—or used one, for that matter.

You noticed, after some time had passed, that he did end up getting the hang of using the pencil as he scribbled away. You supposed all those times of him watching you jot things down had paid off. He looked focused, his body now halfway on top of the deck as he rested on his stomach. His tail was still overboard, dipping into the water, but he’d made himself more comfortable as he held himself up on his forearm. He kind of reminded you of a child, with the way he was so invested in his work.

Later, once he’d disappeared back into the ocean, you walked over to the closed sketchbook and picked it up. He’d left the pencil on top of it, so you grabbed it and stuck it behind your ear as you flicked through the pages to see what he’d scrawled. You were curious, you couldn’t help it.

The page next to the one where you’d written the alphabet and names down were full of rough, solid lines. Like he’d gone all in without knowing how hard to press the pencil to the page. He got better, of course, the more you went down the page and flipped to a few others. The lines turned to scribbles. Then they formed shaky letters. You smiled lightly as you saw him attempting to scrawl out your name. On another page, he had some more random letters here and there before he wrote his name in large, chunky blocks. He was a quick learner. You were kind of impressed.

The page next to it had a doodle of what looked like a coral of some sorts. Maybe an anemone. There was a little fish next to it, with some wavy lines at the top that you supposed represented the ocean’s surface. You didn’t expect him to be the best artist out there, of course, but you had to admit his drawing skills rivaled some of your colleagues’ back at your university. You let out a breath of air and shut the book with a small snap.

You were out on the deck, getting ready for another dive, when you heard a splash followed by a familiar voice.

“Swimmin’?” Katsuki asked once he poked his head up and saw you messing around with your gear.

“Yeah,” you replied as you fastened your diving belt around your waist. Next went the buoyancy compensator and oxygen tank on your back. Today you intended to grab the pictures of the reefs and marine life you needed for your coral bleaching observations over time. You’d already grabbed your underwater camera and placed it in one of the pouches on your belt. “I just gotta check that I have everything…” Pressure gauge was fine, your regulator was hanging around your neck… You were pretty much set.

Katsuki watched with interest as you walked over to the opening in the rail around the boat and sat down on the floor so you could slip on your fins. He dropped back down into the water and swam a bit closer, eyeing up the wires and devices on your body.

“What’s…” He lifted his hand from the water and made a gesture behind him. You raised an eyebrow, then realized he was pointing to your oxygen tank.

“Oh, this just helps me breathe underwater,” you told him. When his eyes moved to watch you fasten the right fin on your foot, you continued on. “These help me to swim easier.” You extended your legs and wiggled your feet. He seemed really invested in them, for he moved closer until he was able to reach up and grab onto your ankle.

It was weird, feeling him hold you there. You didn’t dare move, aware that this was the first time he’d actively attempted to touch you. The one thing you’d learned, as you got to know Katsuki more and more, was that it was important for him to reach out first, not you. He was pretty tense most of the time, not to mention insanely aware. He twisted your foot this way and that, watching the way the fins moved with the motion.

“Weird,” he muttered as he trailed a clawed hand up from the bottom of your heel to the tip of the fin.

“You’re weird,” you retorted, trying not to squirm too much. You knew he was just curious, but still, you were ticklish!

Katsuki’s eyes darted up to you, as though realizing that he was indeed currently holding onto a human’s ankle. And before you could even open your mouth to say something, he grinned wildly—mischievously—as he abruptly yanked on your ankle. Hard.

You yelped as you went plunging into the ocean, the cool temperature making you tense up. Water went into your mouth and up your nose, an uncomfortable feeling that had you coughing and spluttering once you broke the surface to inhale gasps of air.

“N— Not cool!” you choked out as you rubbed the water out of your eyes. It stung slightly—you hadn’t gotten the chance to tug the mask over your face yet. You glared at him once you cleared out all the water—him and his smirking face. This merman was a fucking menace. ��Asshole.”

He rasped out what sounded like a laugh. You honestly weren’t entirely sure. You stuck your tongue out at him and fastened your mask over your eyes. Two could play at this game. Once you placed the regulator into your mouth, you ducked beneath the water, not intending to wait for him to catch up to you—not that he couldn’t with how much of an advantage he had in the water to begin with.

You swam down, heading towards the reefs you could see in the distance. Katsuki swam in circles around you. He lingered behind you at times to watch the way you moved your legs, but he mostly swam ahead and waited for you by the reef. You came to a stop a small distance away from it and fiddled around with your pouch so you could pull out your camera. It had a small, digitized screen on it that allowed you to see what you were taking pictures of.

You held the camera up to your face and snapped a few pictures. Then you swam to a different area so you could take some more. It was a quick process, so you never were down here for too long on days like this.

You didn’t think Katsuki ever saw you use the camera before. He swam up to you from the reef, tiny bubbles following in his wake, and hovered close by as he watched the way you operated it. You turned to look at him then gestured to the camera as you positioned it between the two of you so that he could see the small screen. You pressed on the shutter button a few times so he could see what was happening. Then you brought it back up to your face so you could take a quick photo of him. You wondered if he ever saw how he looked before. You showed him the screen before the picture of him could disappear and he immediately brought his face closer to it.

Katsuki looked at you when the picture vanished, his hair flowing around his head like a strange halo. He pointed to himself, then gestured at the camera as though to say that’s me? You nodded and did the same motion to confirm. You had a feeling he wanted to look at the picture some more, but he’d have to wait until you processed and printed them out.

He did seem interested in the camera, so you held it out to him. His gaze flicked between it and your face for a moment, but he eventually grabbed it from you. He held it uncertainly in his hands, careful not to scratch it with his claws. You pointed to the big button he needed to use to take a picture, then held your hands up to your face to demonstrate what to do.

He caught on quite quickly.

You drifted leisurely around, enjoying the sights and marine life that surrounded you, as Katsuki swam to and fro, taking pictures of anything and everything. Now that he had a new human thing in his grasp, he seemed eager to use it as much as he could. He took some photos of you—your fingers raised in a peace sign—then darted off to take some of the fishes and plants.

You were fine with just watching him. And when he finally finished taking pictures to his heart’s content, he approached you to give the camera back, the light dancing through the ocean from the surface making him look absolutely breathtaking with the way it bounced off his nearly golden scales.

Fuck, you thought as you took the camera from him and watched him swim off into the distance. I’m really friends with a fucking merman.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #3 weeks late but its finally here babeyy #katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #i didnt fucking expect this chapter to be 8k words oh my GOD #and the next ones are probably gonna follow this length too...#fml #aigmytykb #ew that abbreviation looks nasty LOL #like a keysmash

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