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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

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

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For years they did this until they were gone too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you lock eyes once more.

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

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

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

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

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

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

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

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

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

Not that they could respond, of course.

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

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

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

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

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

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

You glower, brows pulling in.

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

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

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

Or maybe just confidently brave.

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

He was attractive.

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

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

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

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

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

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

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

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

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

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

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

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Humans are strange creatures.

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

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

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

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

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

Feels nice.

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

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

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

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

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

You are happy he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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firenati0n · 2 months

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cause you're classic, and i'm reckless

by firenati0n on ao3

T | 5.4k

tags: actor au, first kiss, fluff, alex pov, banter, falling in love

“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

xoxo roop

P.s. this was absolutely inspired by THEEEE ryan gosling/rachel mcadams MTV 2005 video. You know the one.

also tagging some folks who expressed interest in this don't mind me <3 ilysm

@sail-not-drift @onward--upward @suseagull04 @littlestar2911 @welcometololaland @dragonflylady77 @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @ninzied @sherryvalli @piratefalls @indestructibleheart @onthewaytosomewhere @heybuddy-drabbles @priincebutt @cactusdragon517 @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @eusuntgratie @cha-melodius @bigassbowlingballhead @getmehighonmagic @celeritas2997 @nontoxic-writes @porcelainmortal @4rthurfox

#rwrb fic #fics #rwrb #rwrb fanfiction #roop writes #fic: kissing as practice #hope you love it xoxo #my longest fic yet #kind of came tumbling out randomly and unplanned #thank you to my friends for always uplifting and encouraging me #i love you guys so much

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fayes-fics · 3 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 4 - Le Rideau Tombe Avant La Fin

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is reader and Eloise's farewell to Paris. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Paris, September 1939

The next three days are a blur, fleeting but at once memorable, lived on borrowed time.

Knowing the inevitable is happening - that you will need to leave Paris soon - you give notice at work; so sad to have only been there for a matter of weeks rather than the planned months. On a brighter note, however, you are able to spend the days with Benedict, showing him all you have learned about art in the city in the short time you have had. Many a happy hour is spent in galleries. Both of you tripping over your words to share what you know about the art and the artists in a breathless, excited fashion. Kindred spirits in your appreciation of the works. Sometimes lost in a reverie as you stand in front of a canvas as large as your entire living room, the scale and complexity literally dumbfounding.

And, of course, a little of your heart is stolen with each moment together - the first person you have ever met who truly seems as enthused as you about the subject matter. That it's all wrapped up in that handsome face adds more complexity and confusion. You can't deny the skip in your pulse when he looks at you, weighted, a touch of reverence, so focused as you speak passionately on the subject you love. And you are certain your face is a picture of devotion as he waxes lyrical, too. You know you are getting swept up into the almost cliched romance of it all - the city of love, a handsome stranger, the no doubt impending invasion giving a sense of urgency and finality to every hour- it's a powder keg that feels dangerous as it is intoxicating.

—

Early evening of the second day, as you wander back from the Louvre, you pass by the offices of the cruise company you came from America with.

“Oh! I should speak to them about swapping my return ticket,” you comment, seeing the men standing outside in the smart red livery of the company, speaking in English to crowds of people inquiring about escaping France.

“See if you can move it to the day after tomorrow,” Benedict counsels. “That is the day we are due to set sail. We can all go to the coast together on the train.”

“That would be nice,” you admit, realising it will be lovely to have someone to wave farewell to, even if there is a little stab in your chest at the idea you may never see Benedict again. Or, of course, darling Eloise.

So, a couple of hours later, after an early dinner, you are back on this same street, your ticket in hand, waiting patiently to speak to one of the young men in uniform.

“Mademoiselle?” he beckons you forward.

“Good evening. I have a ticket to New York for eleven months, hence, 12th August 1940. I am hoping I can swap to a sailing in a few days? Ideally, the day after tomorrow?”

The men exchange glances, and there seems to be a swirl of excitement as they crowd around you.

“A real ticket?” one of them pipes up, an excitement in their tone which strikes you as rather odd.

With a nod, you hand it over, and they all seem to confer, then grab a pad of tickets and transfer some details.

“Not a problem at all, Mademoiselle. Here, this is for a sailing two days hence. Thank you for travelling with us!”

They seem inordinately pleased as you walk away clutching your new ticket, a mix of emotions swirling. The finality of your time in Paris suddenly so real, the date on the newly issued ticket, ink still drying, sinking in.

—

When you push open the door to your apartment, still with a tinge of melancholy, you are taken aback by the whirlwind you encounter.

“How did I amass this many mugs?” Eloise decries, standing amidst a complete bomb of possessions scattered all over the surfaces of your apartment.

“Well, you can't take them all home,’ Benedict points out wearily, “you have your case, and that trunk there, Eloise, and that is all.”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “Well aware of that brother…” holding a blue and red mug in each hand, assessing which she likes more.

“I suppose I'm lucky I've only been here a matter of weeks,” you pipe up as they both turn to look at you, Benedict shooting you a lopsided grin as Eloise barges forward and loops your arm in hers, dragging you across the room.

“Just the person I need!” she declares. “Help me! What mug screams, ‘I had a life in Paris once, and it was amazing’?” She gestures to the array of drinking vessels she has pulled out to the cupboard.

You ponder the question with a thoughtful pout. “Why not just leave them all for the next tenant? I'm sure Solene would appreciate the ability to rent out the apartment with kitchen supplies?” you try to be diplomatic.

“Yes, I know that,” Eloise sighs, “there were mugs when I got here. That, of course, got mysteriously broken after a few days, which is a blessing as they were all hideous…”

“You broke some perfectly good mugs?” Benedict frowns disapprovingly.

“Do you live here?” she shoots back pointedly, raising an eyebrow, “I am only seeking the counsel of those who live here… not a squatter,” she sniffs.

You share a look with Benedict - yours contrite, his bemused - as if this is just another day with Eloise. Which, to be fair, it sort of is.

“If I had to choose one…” you point to the cherry red earthenware mug that looks French in a way you can’t quantify; it just does.

“You’re right as always,” Eloise grins, seizing it. “Much better help than that one,” she adds, sticking her tongue out at Benedict as she wraps the chosen item in yesterday's newspaper.

“Packing going well?” you breeze, your eye again meeting Benedict’s as he pulls a face that makes you giggle hard.

“You try cramming nine months of freedom into a teeny trunk,” Eloise grumbles, heading towards her bedroom.

“I am just taking my clothes…” you admit. You only have a few additional items you purchased since you arrived in Paris that should all fit if you pack smart enough.

“That’s yours, by the way…” Eloise gestures to Benedict’s painting on the wall before she disappears out of sight. “I have no room for it, and it seems strange to carry a picture of a house I'm headed to…” she calls out down the corridor.

“I would love it…” you inhale, looking at the artist imploringly as if somehow you need his permission.

“Y-you want it?” Hesitant, disbelieving almost.

“If you will permit me,” you confess, clasping a hand over your heart.

“It is yours,” he replies, his face a mixture of pleasant surprise and humble acceptance.

You rush forward and take the painting off the wall, reverentially cradling it between your hands.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you sigh, a little fizz in your stomach at the idea he wants you to have it. Like you will always have a piece of him with you once you are apart.

“I can paint you others...” he offers quickly, in a rush of exhaled breath. “Whatever you want…”

Something in the tumbling sincerity of his words has your heart beating fast.

“I can think of nothing more appealing than a wall full of your works…” you confess while trying not to think that room would be thousands of miles away.

He blushes adorably, casting his eyes down until suddenly, his head jerks up again. “Wait I…I have something I want to give you, actually,” He scurries across the room and gathers a sketchbook. “I'm sorry it's not framed, but here…”

He carefully tears out the page from his pad. And your heart stops.

It's you from two days ago. Sitting on a bench overlooking the Seine, the Eiffel Tower over your shoulder as you read a book. You wondered what he was doing sitting a few feet away that day as you took a lunch break. Now you know. It's a perfect pencil rendering of the scene, each sketched line a wondrous recreation of that sun-soaked afternoon.

“Benedict….” all other words fail.

“I want you to have it,” he murmurs, “your time in Paris may have been unexpectedly brief, but you deserve a memento of the happiness you found here, however fleeting it had to be.”

Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes; you want to rush to him, to throw your arms around him, thank him profusely, but you are scared to. Scared that in the moment you would get carried away, press your lips to his…

“Thank you...” is all you can struggle out, inadequate and awkward.

“De rein…” Again, that perfect accent has you practically swaying

But the spell is broken when Eloise reappears, complaining loudly about the size of her trunk, and part of you is grateful for it. Guilt floods your being as you think how bad of a person you must be to covet your best friend’s brother when you have a fiance back home. One you will, in fact, likely see in a matter of days now… tamping down that disquiet, you excuse yourself to your room, placing your ticket on the mantel and refusing to look at it as you pick up a book to read.

—

Solene’s hug is so tight you feel like she is crushing your ribs. Or perhaps it's that you feel a little too fragile today.

“I shall miss you, ma cherie,” she mumbles into your hair before pulling back and seizing your jaw. “You will come back when this is all over, oui?”

“Oui,” you agree, knowing it’s more of a wish than a promise.

Once again, she pulls you in for a tight hug before turning to Eloise and clinging to her just the same, lingering longer.

“Souviens-toi, ma sœur,” she reminds Eloise, having told you the previous night that her sister lives just outside the port city of Le Havre should you need a place to stay for any reason.

It's two days later, the day of your departure, and your eyes ping around the now-tidy apartment, only furniture left where once there was a jumble of life. It looks much less like home, making handing over your key a little less painful. One final wistful glance at the Eiffel Tower out of the window is all you can manage before picking up your case and walking out, scared to look back.

Benedict is loitering in the corridor outside and shoots you a sympathetic glance as you exit, eyes glassy.

“You will return,” he offers solemnly, even as you both know it's just a platitude, before turning his attention to the apartment door. “Hurry up, Eloise, we need to get to the train…” he calls.

You start to move towards the sweeping staircase, preferring a long amble down its winding loop than the lift, your case feeling much heavier than when you arrived mere weeks ago…

—

You watch the puffs of steam float past the window as the train picks up pace, pulling out of Gare Saint-Lazare. Perhaps aptly, it begins raining soon after, streaks of water lashing the glass as you rest your head back into the seat.

“I can't bear to look at it,” Eloise sighs, closing her eyes so as not to see Paris slipping away.

You reach over the table between you and grasp her hand, and her eyes open to give you a nod of thanks before closing again.

“Why do you have to be American?” she whines. “I would do anything to have you come to England. We could get a little place together in London…” She winds her feet around yours like a vine, needing the connection in your last few hours together.

“If only…” you agree, a weight akin to a heavy boulder settling in your stomach at the idea you will soon be back on Long Island, a world that seems so…. staid to you now.

Benedict shoots you a sympathetic look across from his seat next to Eloise on the aisle but says nothing, going back to reading his book as it's your turn to sigh, the city now a blur outside the window as you speed towards the end of your time in France.

–

Half an hour later, Eloise is sleeping, her head lolling lightly on the glass with the gentle rocking motion of the train, now following the meander of the Seine just outside Poissy.

“She didn't sleep well last night,” Benedict observes, looking up from his book and following your line of sight. “I don't think she wanted her last night in Paris to ever end.”.

His words take you back to just hours ago, a rousing evening in your favourite local bistro filled with wine, camaraderie and song. Benedict didn't accompany you and Eloise, preferring to stay home and read, he said, but part of you wishes he was there to help commiserate and toast your final night chez Paris.

“You should have come out,” you opine with a slight pout, which makes him chuckle.

“It's not me who had to have the fitting farewell,” he points out with a sympathetic smile.

“Still, it would have been nice if you were there…” The idle thought is out of your lips before you can think about how that might sound, and you know you are blushing when his mouth opens a fraction in surprise, a dot of colour on his cheeks, too.

“I'm sure you still had a wonderful time,” he placates demurely.

You smile and nod, feeling a little twinge in your ankle from all the dancing you have done.

“Are you excited?” he asks, changing the subject.

You frown. “Why would I be excited to leave Paris?”

To be reunited with your fiance?” he answers slowly, a look of puzzlement on his face that it had not occurred to you.

“Oh…” you pause, your mind recalling Stanley’s smile, although somehow it seems faded now, like an out-of-focus photograph, as if you cannot wholly remember it now. “I… I suppose…”

His face is a picture of concern again. “You do not sound certain…” he hedges.

“I am not, to be honest,” you sigh for what seems like the hundredth time today. “These few weeks have… shown me so much of the world,” you explain, “I have had so many novel experiences, met so many wonderful new people…” you can't help but let your gaze meet his as you say it. “It makes my life before seem… small? Parochial?” you are clutching for the right words as his hazy eyes track your every facial move.

“Like an old shoe that used to be comfortable but now suddenly feels too tight?” he offers a metaphor that is so apt you can't help but nod.

“Exactly!’ you agree, enthusiastically waving your hand.

There is a quiet moment where your eyes meet again, a tingle over your skin, a pulse of energy so enlivening.

“Do you feel there is perhaps something out there better for you?” his ask feels loaded, a quiet murmur that carries so much hidden meaning but is nearly lost in the rhythmic sound of the train clattering over the tracks. So much so you could likely pretend you didn't hear, but you don't.

“I just might…” you answer softly, even as you are unable to look away. Something about this man makes you daring, unwilling to do anything but be bold.

Long, elegant fingers reach out over the table and are about to brush the back of your hand when Eloise suddenly startles awake between you. His hand disappears rapidly, pulling back as if burned. All you can concentrate on is the ashy taste of regret at your best friend’s timing.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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starlight-bread-blog · 27 days

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random, but I just realized that in, say, a hypothetical alternate universe where the writers made Katara and Zuko fall in love, get married, and have kids, Zuko would most certainly teach their child non-bending means of attacking/defending themselves. Hell broke loose when Tui was temporarily dead, which left all water-benders temporarily unable to bend. A Solar Eclipse event leaves all fire-benders temporarily unable to bend as well. Katara and Zuko both experienced what it's like for them and all of the fellow benders of their element to lose their powers on a massive alert scale. Zuko and Katara would 200% have their child learn the way of the sword and martial arts. Not just because of culture, but because Zuko and Katara know how scary things get when your bending is turned off in such a serious way, and wouldn't want their child to be defenseless.

AAAAA SO CUTE I LOVE THIS!!! Additionally, their uncle would be the Chief if the Southern Water Tribe and their aunt would be the leader of the Kyoshi warriors. They're fan and sword!!

Let's not forget that Ty Lee taught the Kyoshi warriors chi blocking!! Remember that Ty Lee destroyed Katara. If they have a none bender child theh could go toe to toe with bending masters.

And and and in my AU their kids went through one of these Water Tribe sailing tests that signify maturity. (Really hope Bumi did, Tenzin probably didn't).

Zuko and Katara would want their kids to know all non-bending martial arts so Zuko'd teach them swordsmanship and Katara'd ask Sukka for help and they'd be very normal about that.

Katara: Hey I thought you might want to teach A-

Suki and Sokka, together: Say no more.

(Author's note: in a modern AU Suki is already phoning Ty Lee).

Zutara's kids will be so powerful. Especially the hypothetical non-benders. Ty for the ask, have a nice day💕

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subbyp · 1 year

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I have this idea for an AU wherein Sanji’s physical Germa modifications kick in during his time starving on the rock, and when he’s like 14 Judge finds out and decides to take him back by force, because if the physical modifications took then surely the mental ones will too and if not there’s always psychological conditioning like what he did to Reiju, right? So Germa rocks up to the Baratie, burns it to the waterline, slaughters the crew (almost) to a man, and drags Sanji back. they don’t realize that Zeff survives, and they probably wouldn’t care if they did. (more fool them)

the mental modifications never kick in, but Sanji learns to act like they do, developing this false persona as a vicious shallow hedonist. he also leans hardcore on his growing resemblance to Sora to get Judge to indulge his whims (no, there’s nothing actually sexual about it, but it is deeply uncomfortable and it’s supposed to be). this is because he’s waiting for a very specific kind of opportunity…..

five years later, the Straw Hat Pirates are in Loguetown, getting ready to scale Reverse Mountain when Luffy fucks up the storefront of a shabby little seafood shack off the main square where Roger was once executed and is enlisted into chore boy duty. he gets to talking about dreams and piracy and sailing with the owner.

“do you have any dreams?” he says, failing to mop the floor.

“I used to have a few,” says the owner.

“not anymore?” says Luffy.

“none of your business,” says the owner.

“you should be my cook!” says Luffy.

“not a chance in hell,” says the owner.

then the shit goes down that leads to Luffy being put up on the block and almost executed. when the Straw Hats flee to the Merry they find the owner standing there waiting for them with a book under his arm.

he explains that he can’t be their cook—he’s too old and too broken, he’s had enough of the Grand Line, and besides staying in Loguetown is the best shot he has at achieving his dream (“I knew you had a dream!” yells Luffy. everyone ignores this), but he’s got a cookbook and nutrition guide he’s been working on and the Straw Hats can have the first draft so they don’t totally die of scurvy and shit if they swear to do him one favor—to, if they ever, out there on the sea, meet a nineteen-year-old kid called Sanji, tell him that Red-Leg Zeff is alive.

“yeah! of course!” says Luffy. “if you tell me what your dream is.”

“to see him walk free,” says Zeff.

—

Zeff’s cookbook keeps the Straw Hats properly nourished. but they barely make it to Sabaody in canon, and here they have one less combatant, so Kuma decides to split the team at Thriller Bark, and instead of sending Zoro to Kuraigana, he sends his unconscious just-bore-Luffy’s-pain ass right onto the Germa 66 flagship.

Judge wants to vivisect Zoro to figure out how a regular human non-DF-user could be so freakshow strong and then turn his head in for the bounty, but Sanji recognizes him as one of the Straw Hats (and thus, one of the liberators of Alabasta) and improvs on the spot that he wants him as a swordsmanship coach (“after all, sir, you want me to improve my swordsmanship”) and, he heavily implies, bed-warmer. thus Zoro wakes up in a Germa 66 infirmary, wounds bandaged, swords gone, and explosive collar on his neck, as the third-born Prince of Germa demands to be allowed to see his new toy alone. (“yes, I’ll be careful with him. I don’t want to break him when I’ve just got him!”)

zoro, having deduced what sanji is alluding to, is about ready to kill him with his bare hands on the spot, but as soon as they’re alone in the room together sanji starts immediately and profusely apologizing for being such a creep. he says he’s not into men (“especially not unwilling ones”) but it was the only way he could think of to get them even occasional privacy, and btw he is probably going to have to claim that he’s doing some unsavory stuff or else Judge might possibly have Zoro killed, but he’ll never lay a hand on Zoro without his consent besides what is strictly necessary to fake it around the Vinsmokes—

at this point Zoro starts to wonder what the hell he’s going on about. Sanji explains the whole thing and says that he’s planning on somehow getting Zoro back to the Straw Hats as soon as he can, and in the meantime he’ll make sure Zoro gets food and medical care and that nobody sells off his swords or anything, but he needs Zoro to do something for him in return:

“I’m going to feed you every bit of knowledge I have about Germa 66, and when you leave here, you need to give that information to someone who can destroy us until not even memories remain.”

#So basically it’s a ‘’fake slave and actual hostage of insane relatives to friendly rival to lovers’’ sort of deal #one piece #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zoro/sanji #zosan

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jisungsdaydreamer · 1 year

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No Man’s Land

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS After a disastrous shipwreck out at sea, Changbin should have died. But you saved him.

Pairing: Changbin x gn!reader Genre: mermaid au, pirate au Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive, violence, death, nudity but not sexual World Count: 3.6k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

Changbin is accustomed to the folk law of sea creatures, monsters with tentacles and suckers that rip the skin clean off your bones. When he’d first set sail with a captain whose lucrative business involved bloodshed, cannon fire, and rare visits to dry land, Changbin was fifteen. All he possessed were the tales his grandfather had received countless times. A sword was always strapped to his hip, but it was some time before he learned how to use it. Piracy is a crime punishable by death. But Changbin doesn’t intend on getting caught.

It’s the stories of creatures half-human, half-scaled, that Changbin can recall in greater detail. Shivers ripple through his body as he recounts the brutal cruelty these beings are capable of; known to prettily coax ships to the rocks. Some say they physically transform for each victim, your own personal siren, beautiful and nigh uncatchable in the water.

But the tales are not of much concern at the present minute, as the ship is hosting a rather bloody battle between the crew and those that have swung aboard, uninvited.

“Changbin!”

The warning almost comes too late, but Changbin turns, carving his sword into the man’s waist. A fatal red seeps into the clothing around the deep wound, mouth wide and breath punched. The man falls back, his dead weight hitting the hard deck.

There’s not much time to relax before another opponent chooses Changbin to pick a fight with. Changbin’s aim is weak when holding a pistol, and he desperately hopes the man aiming at him is just as poor. The bullet clips Changbin’s arm, a flesh wound that doesn’t cause much discomfort. And that’s particularly useful, because his attack is a surprise to the man he charges at. He could take an arm or a leg, but a blade through the left of his chest is something Changbin finds kinder, when ending a person’s life. Not that he’s ever had it happen to himself.

Changbin’s sword is slicked with crimson as he withdraws it from the torso. Sweat trickles his neck and back, as he discovers flames that lick up the stairs to the raised deck which holds the wheel. One of the vast sails has just caught alight, and despite the endless water surrounding them, it will be difficult to put it out. Steering has been abandoned in favor of fighting off the enemy, and Changbin’s judgment tells him the ship is careening towards a reef just barely visible above the ocean’s glassy surface.

He’s forced to scale the splintered wood to the side of the stairs in order to reach the wheel, but even then, he’s burnt from the heat. Alas, Changbin is too late. The belly of the ship crunches, shredded by the unforgiving rocks, and any effort to stop the consequences are rendered fruitless. Changbin’s limp body is catapulted forward, his hip slamming into the outer edge of the vessel as he is thrown over the side.

Changbin’s vision is blurred when he cracks his eyes open. It’s uncomfortable. Changbin is used to sleeping in rough conditions on the ship, but this doesn’t compare. Attempting to roll to the left jabs more sharp rock through his thin shirt. Wincing, Changbin moves to sit up instead, but soon wishes he didn't. Desperate eyes scan the surrounding water, but there’s nothing but a few floating planks and barrels. If anything was burning, the flames have been extinguished and everything is oddly still. The ship is gone and Changbin’s heart lurches at the possible whereabouts of his home.

The next sight his eyes are troubled by has him grabbing for the sword on his bruised hip but his hand clutches at thin air. Instead, a small dagger is drawn and thrust out defensively in front of him. Changbin sees that you look frightened, but the stories he has heard of mermaids has his fingers tighten around the handle of the blade. Your head bobs up again, and Changbin draws his legs further into him. He’s defenseless if you decide to drag him into the water.

He’s breathing heavily now, eyes never straying from the source of his fear. You curiously circle the rock he’s made residence on, coming a little too close for Changbin’s comfort. It’s a pathetic attempt, but he still wrestles off his one remaining boot and launches it at you. The pulsing waves make good cover as you duck. You seem more curious about the wriggling of his toes rather than his efforts to keep you away.

The movement triggers a sharp pain to the right of his forehead. The dagger has dropped from his hand, teetering on the edge of the stone, but before Changbin can reach it, the blade is swallowed by the ocean. He clutches at his temple, and as he withdraws his palm, blood mixed with water drips down his wrist.

“I’m sorry about that. You’re heavy and the sea is rough.”

You are much closer now, clinging to the rock on his left side with your hands, and it’s difficult for Changbin to mistake the regret in your sparkling eyes. The rest of your body past your bare shoulders is concealed within the inky waters and your dark hair cascades in waves around your delicate features.

“I pulled you onto the rock,” you continue as Changbin stares. “Because you can’t swim, can you? That’s why you sail on those big wooden arcs.”

“Ships.”

It’s the first word he’s spoken to you, and it seems apt for the situation he’s in.

“Ships,” you repeat, locking the information away.

He doesn’t correct her— Changbin’s a strong swimmer— but it doesn’t seem important now. He has far greater concerns. “Where is my ship?”

“Sunk.”

“And the men?”

“Sunk with it.”

You don’t hold an ounce of remorse, just inquisitively tilting your head. Your lack of sympathy reminds Changbin that you are a creature that isn’t human; you might as well be from a far-off land.

“Why did you put me here?”

It’s accusing. He should have died with his friends, not alone on a fucking rock. Changbin knows you both are in the middle of the ocean, he’d seen the maps a few days prior. They were sailing into open water.

“Because I found you.”

“There were plenty of men you could have captured,” Changbin bites back.

He’s not frightened of you anymore; he’s just incredibly pissed off. Stupid fish. Why couldn’t you have just left him to die?

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted to keep you,” you emphasize.

“Why?” He shakes his head.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Your answer flushes his cheeks with color. He had expected a reply to run more along the lines of, ‘because I think you’ll scream the most when I rip you from limb to limb’ or perhaps, ‘you’ll taste the nicest when I wrap you in seaweed and feast on your flesh.’ You smile at his embarrassment, an emotion you’re probably unaware you have caused him to feel. No one has ever called him beautiful before.

“Are you a pirate?”

So apparently we’ve moved on, Changbin thinks. He shifts a little in your direction, and with the unparalleled view of his very own siren, he is secretly astounded with your beauty. It’s delicate in a fragile way, bringing a certain sadness to him.

“My ship’s gone, the crew… I’m just a man on a fucking rock now,” Changbin speaks in defeat.

He lays back on the jagged stone, heavily sighing and staring up at the clouds floating by.

“A boy.”

Changbin’s eyes harshly target you. Your eyebrows are raised in question to his challenging frown.

“I’m nineteen,” he states defensively.

“Is that old enough to be a man?”

He doesn’t miss the sharp gleam of your teeth. You could probably rip him to shreds, but he doesn’t think that will happen, now that you’ve called him beautiful.

“I think I’ve had enough life experience to merit me a man.”

“Oh,” you reply.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know,” you retort with a shrug.

It’s off to see such a human gesture on something that Changbin knows is swimming around with a tail. It’s as though you can read his mind, flicking your lower half through the opaque water before coming to rest on his other side. He sits up.

“Why do you slay your own kind?”

The fighting. You’re talking about what happened between the two vessels. Changbin’s memory is fuzzy, and he accounts it to the knock his head received. The enemy ship must’ve gotten away unscathed, unless it’s wrecked like his own and lying beneath him. You were watching then.

“We had to protect the cargo,” He eventually replies.

“The shiny coins and pretty rocks?”

You smile in appreciation, and Changbin is certain you’re innocent to the worth of the stolen treasures. They wouldn’t be as good to you, as you spend your life solely below the surface of the sea.

“You’ve seen them?”

“Yes, I went down to have a look while you were sleeping. Your ship has holes in it, I don’t think it will float anymore.”

“No,” Changbin sadly shakes his head.

“Where have you been on your ship?” you ask, genuinely taking an interest in the stranded boy.

“Everywhere.”

You laugh, and the sound makes Changbin want to move closer. His grandfather’s words still ring in his head, the most malicious predator wears beauty as a mask, beware of the sealed splendor that inhabits the ocean, Changbin.

“You can’t have been everywhere.”

He’s going to die anyway, why not let it be at the hands of his own siren?

“Even if I haven’t, there are thousands of ships; man has conquered the ocean,” Changbin replies with assurance.

Your smile drops, fingers slipping from the side of Changbin’s rock, and you create space between you both. You float as he shuffles down, feet dipping into the water. When you make no move towards him, Changbin lets his legs hang over the side. The water is cool.

“You’re naive, pirate,” you speak in such a harsh tone, Changbin finds it difficult to accept that those words have come from something so lovely.

“My grandfather slayed a monster of the sea, it was forty feet long,” He challenges.

Changbin thinks you ought to be impressed, his grandfather was a legend. But his pride sinks as you coldly stalk him. The once pretty shimmer of your tail has taken on a darker tone. Changbin braces his hands behind him, leaning back slightly and away from you.

“I’ve seen bigger,” you finally reply with a small smile.

If Changbin didn’t know any better, he’d say your words were laced with suggestive air. It’s a manner he’s only ever heard of in the bedrooms of women he visits when making an occasional port stop. You’re either unaware of your affect or playing with him on purpose.

“Have you?” Changbin laughs, not in a questioning way, but with a genuine interest.

You swim closer back to the rock, your shoulders rising above the water for the first time, exposing your body to Changbin for the first time. His eyes traced over all of you, your delicate but strong arms, the graceful arch of your neck, the soft curves of your hips. And when Changbin realizes that your torso is bare, save for the gorgeous curls of your hair, he immediately looks away, his face colored with his sudden bashfulness.

It is not as if Changbin has never set eyes on someone’s naked form, but the gorgeous creature in front of him is no human- no, you are ethereal, exquisite, a kind of loveliness unknown to man. Looking at you feels new, somehow; you are only a fantasy, a being of old sailor tales, and up until now, everything about you was a mystery to Changbin.

“You and your ships have barely explored the surface,” you state, amused, as you rest your chin upon your forearms, propped up on Changbin’s small, probable death, a stone island. “There’s so much more.”

You’re kindly smiling now, friendly demeanor in place of whatever manifested a short time before.

“More?” Changbin speaks without thinking, leaning closer to share the secret.

“I could show you.”

Changbin shakes his head with a shy smile, looking down and observing the way his legs swing back and forth in the water. He should feel cold, but he doesn’t. Changbin doesn’t have time to go exploring with you, his life on the rock must come to an end soon; he has no drinking water, no food, no nearby shore.

“Will you sing to me then?” you ask quietly. “I heard you before the fighting. You have such a pretty voice, will you sing to me, pirate?”

Changbin indulges the bewitching mermaid and recites an old song his mother used to sing to him. You are so enthralled, requesting that he repeat the tune and then sing a new one. By the time he’s finished, Changbin’s voice is tortured with thirst. You are laid partially on the rock, tail dipping in and out of the water as you praise him for such a wonderful performance.

“Your eyes look like the deep ocean,” you keenly observe. Changbin has never heard of a more poetic way of describing his murky brown eyes. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

He’s tired now, hungry and possibly a little sunburnt. With his eyes closed, Changbin is free to imagine himself anywhere he pleases. The sun is still beating a warm glow in what he believes to be late afternoon. And Changbin can’t seem to envision himself anywhere but here, on a rock in the ocean, with a sea creature for company. A beautiful one. Changbin’s glad that they haven’t exchanged names, because hearing you say his might in fact be a massive obstruction in his plan of not getting attached and wanting to stay. Learning yours would swell his heart.

You are lovingly gazing at him when he opens his eyes. He’s had time to think and he’s made his decision.

“I’d like to see. Will you take me there?”

Changbin is slipping down the rock before you even confirm your answer. Your eyes are bright with joy, excited that the boy would accept your offer. You’ve never been this close to a pirate, or a human, for that matter. And now, your heart flutters because you get to hold him again. He’s not asleep this time.

Once he’s fully submerged, your arms wrap Changbin’s torso, pressing you into him. He’s not expecting you to be so gentle, conscious of the fragility of his body as you cradle him away from the inevitable danger of the rock.

“You can’t swim, I’ll hold you.”

Your smile almost makes Changbin want to confess he can’t be yours. There’s no hope for him, Changbin understands that. And maybe this won’t be such an awful conclusion. He’d imagined his life to come to an end at the tip of a blade, sea air spraying his face, not in the arms of a creature who inhabits the ocean he sails. Changbin almost wishes his grandfather could be here to witness the ‘monster’ he’d painted into his grandson’s young mind. To see that you’re not a ruthless predator, not a vicious, inhuman monster. You saved his life.

“Are you ready?”

And now, you’re unwittingly going to take it from him.

Changbin’s lips fall to yours. It’s a surprise for you, because it’s a soft pink. Warm. Their noses brush as the angle transforms, and the boy presses his mouth to the corner of yours. The laugh that escapes is musical, and you squeeze his injured hip.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a kiss,” Changbin breathlessly explains.

Your eyes dart over his face, absorbing the boy’s striking features, and you playfully tug at the end of the black scarf tied around his head.

“What’s it for?”

The mermaid smiles innocently, questioning about a subject that he’s never been asked to analyze before.

“It— it doesn’t really have a purpose.”

He’s not going to delve into the logistics, because all Changbin can think of is to explain a kiss like that is love. The situation doesn’t need to last longer. He’s ready to go with you now.

“Then why do you do it?”

“It feels nice,” Changbin’s voice descends in volume, embarrassed to be called out.

He looks at the length of your hair falling over your shoulders and down your back, before tracing his eyes upward again, over the strange gashes in your neck.

“Do it again,” you breathe.

He does as told, closing his eyes and melting into the last kiss he’ll ever have. You follow the only lead you have ever had and shut your eyes. It seems strange to you, to blind yourself when commencing in an intimate act. Surely you’d want to see the other person. Your mind flutters as the boy performs magic with just his lips. And you come to realize that ‘kissing’ is more to do with how you feel, rather than what you see.

Changbin is startled as you pull away, hiding your face and giggling. Your shimmering tail floats back and forth under the water beneath them, your hands still firmly holding his waist.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, water droplets trickling down your neck and over your chest.

“Your tongue touched mine,” you exclaim, blushing.

It’s enormously endearing and Changbin finds himself wishing that he’d met someone like you on land. You would have convinced him not to leave, not to climb aboard the ship proudly displaying black flags. He would have a respectable job and thrive on the knowledge that everyday, you’d be home waiting for his return. He could have loved someone like you.

“I’m ready.”

You beam a smile at him before helping his arms around you. His fingers skim the hardened scales on the small of your back, tracing the gradual boundary between ocean dwelling and human.

“Hold on to me,” you whisper, the last words spoken between you both before you submerge.

The saltwater stings Changbin’s eyes. His instincts tell him to fight the hold and break the surface, but he overcomes reflex, letting you cling to him as you dive further down. You’re more powerful than he’d expected, and they descend quickly. The pressure is starting to burn, pressing down on his chest as he holds the last of his breath. Three more beats of your tail, and Changbin can’t put off the inevitable any longer. Water painfully invades his lungs, body convulsing with the onslaught before succumbing to the ocean, and the pretty creature who cradles him.

He knew he would drown, but you didn’t.

They come to a slow halt to admire the surroundings.

“Look,” you smile.

These waters are your favorite, pretty fish and deep water coral. It’s a wash of colors that most don’t get to see, perhaps that’s what makes it so special.

The boy’s head rests in the crook of your neck. You hold him away from you slightly so you can see his face, see the awe you hope his features will express. But his face is blank, eyes shuttered closed, hands no longer seeking you for guidance.

You shake him, as much as the dense water allows. The hair not trapped beneath the bandana floats around him like a halo.

“Why won’t you open your eyes?” Your voice trembles with a cry.

He can’t swim. Your hands settle a small distance away from his waist in hopes that he’ll reach out and clutch you to him again. But he doesn’t. The boy begins to drift, and you snap from your despair, taking handfuls of his shirt and dragging him into your arms.

“Sing to me,” you desperately say into his ear. “Please.”

You’ve seen men like this before, but you had accounted for their unresponsiveness to the wounds to neck or chests. They were already dead before they hit the water, thrown over the side of ships that flaunted those black sails. Your boy has no such injuries. You check, hands smoothing over his defined chest under the tattered shirt. There’s no wounds, no blood. Delicate fingers inspect his shoulders, and your frantic searching dies when you reach his neck. A distraught cry frightens the nearby fish, as they seek cover in the nearby coral. The three gashes that you have on either side of your throat are absent on his.

The boy couldn’t breathe.

“No.”

You receive odd looks from your siblings, but you pay no mind. The boy is yours; you’ll look after him.

Others of your kind have gathered around the wrecked ship settled on the ocean floor. It’s not too far from the surface, light still penetrating from above. With practiced skill, you carefully navigate the vessel’s interior, an area you’ve previously explored after rescuing the boy you now protectively embrace. The cargo he’d talked about spills over the chewed up wooden floor.

There’s not much of a current, especially as they’re sheltered within the ship’s hull. You allow his body to float down upon a bed of shiny coins and pretty rocks: a fitting resting place for your beautiful boy.

You stay with him until the waters are cold and looming with the promise of nightfall. Normally, you’d spend this time above the surface, sitting on the boy’s vacant rock to watch the sun go down. It is possible to cry underwater, and your sorrowful tears wash with the ocean.

Your lips press to his, but you don’t linger because he’s cold. The once pretty pink is now a stony blue as you run the tip of your finger over the curves of his mouth.

“Forgive me,” you plead.

One last look and you’re gone.

But you should have stayed with him though, as now the boy’s eyes are wide open. There are gashes on his neck, and he’s breathing the oxygen in the water…

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I wrote this years ago. I just love mermaids & Changbin!

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

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aerkame · 1 year

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Have I been thinking of a selkie or Finfolk Welcome Home AU trying to get my projects done? Absolutely. Is it one of the first things I'm writing once finals are over and some requests are done? You bet. Am I implying that Home is basically the equivalent of Hildaland to Wally and the others? Yup.

Am I making a short little drabble to tease people with? Hell yeah.

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Flashing scales shined beneath the moonlight as the creature leaned further in to get a better look at the intruder.

You weren't supposed to be here.

Home is a shrouded in his own magic that's supposed to keep outsiders out, you're not supposed to so much at see the island unless you were invited, only other finfolk and their families were allowed here, it kept humans out. Specifically humans like you. How did you manage to get in? Too many questions, not enough answers. He did not like this one bit, and judging by the strong winds Home didn't like this either. Perhaps he should investigate himself. The others should be able to sense the trespasser already.

Wally silently walked down to the shoreline allowing the rest of his scales to disappear from sight, he didn't want to alarm the human.

You lay there almost motionless save for your ragged breaths and shivering. Clearly you could not have swam here or gone by boat as he spotted no boat from which you sailed on. There was a chance you possibly got dragged in by a current...but it still would not explain how you are physically on his island and there was still the issue that this place was far out in the ocean, it would be impossible for any human to survive by swimming long enough to get here.

"Hmm...what to do with you." Wally hummed and stood back to his full height, spotting Frank and Eddie approaching.

"So, there is another human after all. At least I'm not the only one now." Frank stated flatly. Eddie leaned down examining your clothes. Frank leaned over to get a look as well.

"Well, that's a bit odd. Their clothes should be soaked."

Eddie looked to the side at your clothes, he was right, you were dry as if you hadn't been swimming at all, but he could sense you washed up here just a few minutes ago.

Frank crossed his arms and continued.

"Their clothes look off as well. If I'm not mistaken..." He knelt down to rub a hand through the fur. It was almost like heaven to touch, soft, silky, smooth, and fluffy all at once.

"This isn't a human." He gave Wally a stern look, as if Wally himself should have known this information.

"Pardon?" Wally looked from the couple to down at you with a puzzled face.

Frank moved over and prodded at your soft cheeks. "It's quite obvious really. The hood and coat is that of a seal's. Though it's softer and finer, and clearly unable to stay wet. And the face..." His thumb trailed from your forehead down to your neck, giving the silver bristles a feel. "While paler, there are a few bristles of silver at the edges of the face and neck, just recently transformed." He gave the rest of your body a quick look over. "And by the looks of it, they're a young adult, most likely not in a pod yet."

"Quite frankly, I believe we have a selkie here."

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Finfolk AU with selkie reader? This sure is interesting!

And poor Frank, at least he has a big strong Finfolk husband to take care of him on Home. :)

#welcome home arg #welcome home #fanfiction #wh #wally darling #my writing #wally darling x reader #welcome home fanfictions #Finfolk #selkie #selkie reader #finfolk au #welcome home finfolk #welcome home finfolk au #welcome home au #short post

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wjbs-bonkle-au · 5 months

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Random small-scale Bionicle AU ideas; feel free to ask what your blorboes (or canon-set OCs, provided you explain what their Thing™ is) are doing in each:

Golf (Turaga-centric AU where they all play golf; side-stuff features the Toa Mahri working at a Crazy/Mini-Golf place.)

Bowling-alley (I think I already posted about this ages ago, but I'm bringing it up again to add some context; it's set in a pseudo-80s world, but everyone's still a biomechanical thing. The Metru and Hagah are the staff, Helryx is the manager, and everybody else are the regular bowlers.)

Age of Sail (technically-a-morality-swap pirate AU; the Makuta are further towards the "lawful" edge of the morality-grid, the (non-evil) Toa are more like Robin Hood figures, and the Dark Hunters and Piraka are more traditional pirates. The Red Star is a ghost-ship crewed by the dead, and Spherus Magna is basically Atlantis.)

Superhero (Human AU offshoot where all the regions are modern-day cities and everyone wears modern clothing; the Toa, Order Of Mata Nui etc. are superheroes, and the various antagonists are supervillains.)

Battle of the Bands (another Human AU offshoot, where the Toa Teams and other factions are bands in a mundane setting, and all the major conflicts are formatted as the eponymous style of contest; the main story is set contemporarily to the respective story-arc's out-of-universe storyline, with relevant musical genres (e.g the Inika are an indie-rock band in 2006, facing off against the Piraka, who are a rap-metal band), and the Metru Nui flashbacks take place in the mid-1980s (with the Toa Metru being a New wave act).)

Reversal (AU where the Magnans live in the GSR and the MU characters live on Bara Magna.)

Broken Mirror (basically just Transformers: Shattered Glass but Bonkle,)

Steam-Age (Bionicle, but in a world where the Magnan society was in the aesthetic and technological equivalent of the mid-to-late 1800s; Bota Magna is a large industrialised city, and Bara Magna is essentially the Wild West. Metus is a literal snake-oil salesman. Some areas of the Matoran Universe has progressed past this a bit, with Metru Nui being Art Deco and having Dieselpunk technology.)

MMORPG (yet another Human-AU spinoff, this time with the characters playing characters resembling their canon selves in a popular MMORPG.)

YA Dystopia ("what if Bionicle was an early-mid 2010s Young-Adult dystopian novel?")

Detective Takua (Takua but as a Poirot-meets-Columbo detective in an early-mid 20th century-flavoured world that coincidentally happens to be shaped like a jumbled-up version of the Matoran Universe; showing up unannounced/coincidentally happening to be at the Big Isolated Mansion™, Large Isolated Boat® or Vaguely-Mediterranean Island©, being very friendly to literally everyone there while also using his... Takua-ness(?) to disarm potential subjects and try to catch them out. Also Kapura is there sometimes.)

#bionicle #bionicle au

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souplessvoid · 4 months

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A Simple Discussion

Sun and moon seems to be having a private discussion, I wonder what they’re talking about…

#Sails and Scales #sun and moon fnaf #sun and moon fanart #Sails and Scales au #sun and moon art #sun and moon au #pirate au #pirate moon #pirate sun #sun and moon security breach #Captain Moon #First Mate Sun

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saltywritings · 1 year

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Petals of the Dragon | Aemond Targaryen x Reader | Part One

summary: a multipart beauty and the beast au.

part two

series warnings: suggestive commentary, foul language, violence, etc.

there was a sense of despair that consumed you as the sound of laughter echoed off the stone walls of the dungeon. you knew that you should not be here. there was not a person alive who would dare cross through the forest and down the overgrowth to the castle. not that a warning was much needed, for the very sight of the red keep was enough to send people running in the opposite direction. if that was not enough there was the tall tale that dragons had long sailed the clouds above the castle. yet, the situation was dire. your father was meant to return home days ago from selling his inventions in the reach. you followed his horse here and you entered bravely in search of your father. to your own horror, you found him, locked in the dungeon of the castle. your hands gripped onto the bars and with all your strength, you shook and jerked at the locked door. the echo of laughter was only growing stronger as tears welled in your eyes.

“run, y/n! leave me-.” your father begged of you, his trembling hands attempting to push them away from the bars of the cell he was in.

“no, father. I can not. y-you’re shivering, you’re ill. i-I can not leave you here.” you reasoned with your father, who was still attempting to push you away.

“y/n, please, my sweet girl. leave me.” tears were in your fathers’ eyes as they met yours. his begging was no use, you knew it, and he knew it too.

“you should listen to your father.” the voice reasoned, the sound of footsteps came closer and from around the corner came a beast. the figure was of a man with long silver hair, one iridescent purple eye looking back to you, and the other one covered by an eyepatch. patches of his skin had dark scales covering them. they were unlike the ones of greyscale that you had seen on the infected in your village. no, the scales across the beast were almost dragon like. at the ends of his fingers danced long black fingernails that appeared more like talons than anything else. there was a part of you that wanted to look away from him. that wished to run away in fear. however, you remained on your knees looking up at the beast before you. unable to tear yourself away from his beastly appearance.

“w-who are you?” you questioned, unwilling to move, and unwilling to leave.

“i am the master of this castle and who do you think you are? sweet girl?” he mocked, a smile glossing over his sinful features.

“y/n- i am here for my father. please free him, he’s sick. he needs to see a doctor.” you begun to ramble, begging as you looked up from the ground at the beast before you. your poor father was unable to even look at him, for his head was down to his shoulder in shame.

“free him? no i can not free him. he has trespassed and stolen- plucked roses straight from their bushes. your father must suffer, he must be punished” the beast insisted to which you begun to shake your head.

“please, i’ll do anything. just let him go.” you continued to beg.

“anything?” he questioned you, looking down at you with his singularly exposed eye.

“yes,” you said bravely.

“come and tell me to my face, that you’ll do anything.” he demanded of you. it was not in your nature to be controlled or to obey. however, you rose to your feet and walked to him. your steps were slow but in a matter of moments you stood looking at him. toe to toe and eye to eye. he smiled looking at you standing bravely in front of him. “go on” he purred.

“i’ll do anything, please, please set my father free.” you began to weep, and you soon brought your hands together as you begged.

“i will set your father free, however, you must take his place.” the beast demanded as tears welled in your eyes.

“no! y/n, don’t do it!” your father shouted, you attempted not to react, to ignored the tears that were already stained across your cheeks.

“i’ll do it, please just let him go!” you insisted to which the beast smiled again.

“fine, if you wish to be a prisoner here instead of him so be it.” the beast spoke as he pulled a key to unlock the prison cell. his hand grabbed onto your father’s arm who was too weak to attempt to fight and in only a matter of moments he begun to pull your father away as he cried for you. the beast threw him the cobblestone stairs that led into the castle, the doors swinging shut behind him before the beast once more brought his attention to you. despite the terror that rang throughout your bones you remained still. feet planted firmly on the ground; you were afraid, but you were unwilling to let this beast have the better of you.

the beast stood in front of you, eye to eye, a hum left the back of his throat. there was a part of him that was amused by your bravery. challenged by it perhaps. his hand grabbed onto your arm tightly as you begun to struggle a bit. he said nothing at first, only beginning to drag you as your feet slid across the ground in the struggle.

“where are you taking me?” you demanded to know.

“your chambers, you’re going to be here kept here. you should at least have your own chambers.” the beast spoke, to which you begun to stop resisting him in your own confusion. there was a silence that followed, his grip on your arm softened as he led you to the chambers. letting you go as he pulled you into them. you stumbled back slightly, looking to him as he stood in the doorway. “these will be your chambers. you will reside here. i will allow you to venture the castle, though, under no circumstances may you go to the west wing of the castle.” the beast said his hands finding his way behind his back. you were going to question him, though, only moments had passed before the beast was gone from the frame of the door and it came slamming shut as he departed.

hours followed of you weeping in your chambers. there was a part of you that wanted to take some comfort in knowing that you would at least be comfortable. yet, the despair of losing your freedom and your father in one night was too much for you to carry. a loud knock came on the door that made your skin jump, your head jolting up from the pillow. a part of you was surprised that the beast had not bothered to simply barge into your room. you were frozen in your fear as the beast called out, “you will join me for super. this is not a request.” his voice was stern but there was a slight echo that followed. another voice.

gentle, aemond. the poor girl has lost everything today. it was the voice of a woman.

yes, getting a look at you she’s probably scared to death, the voice of a man followed along with the sound of a clang, almost as if something had been thrown against the wall. though kicked was more accurate.

a gentle knock followed after.

“what do you want?” you called out curling yourself into the bed.

“will you join me for dinner,” he questioned a silence followed after.

say please, aemond. a voice added in.

“please,” the beast added through gritted teeth. you rose from the bed.

“you honestly think i would willingly have dinner with you? i am your prisoner. you must be daft or insane.” you spat, a part of you was fully aware that he could brust through the door and throw you over his shoulder. that he could do anything he wanted to you. that he could throw you back in a cell or tear you apart limb from limb, and yet? you said it anyway. though, what followed only caused a new feeling of terror to reside in you once again.

a loud pounding followed.

“you will eat with me or you will starve!” he screamed at you but your back was now to the door.

“i would rather starve!” you shouted back.

“than so be it, go ahead and starve!” the beast came screaming back. to which you found yourself in the comfort of the bed once again.

you were unsure how long it had been since another knock came to the door. a gentler knock that followed. you sniffled slightly as your head rose from the pillow.

“i said i’m not coming down to eat with you!” you called out attempting to stand your ground.

“no, this is alicent, dear.” the voice followed to which you stood from your position. you were unsure that there had even been other people in the castle apart from the beast at all. “i just thought you would enjoy some tea to settle you.” she called out again.

“oh yes, please –“ you were speaking as you opened the door. to which, a tea cart pushed in and your eyes went wide. you were convinced you were losing your mind. for at the sight of the tea pot speaking you stumbled back. “y-you’re a . . .” you trailed off as you backed away stepping onto the bed.

“a tea pot? yes, it was alarming for me as well at first. dareon here as well.” she spoke, a small tea cup at her side.

“that’s not possible,” you attempted to reason with her. a shock that only remained to consume you as through the already cracked door hopped in a gold candlestick and a clock which appeared to be one chasing after the other.

“we did not believe it possible either,” the clock begun to speak, you remained still, watching them in dread.

“i thought i told you both to stay away,” alicent, the teapot, begun to scold the two other piece of talking, walking, furniture.

“you can blame your son, it was aegon who came blistering down here like a fool. if not for me hald this castle would be in flames.” the clock begun to argue.

“perhaps that was the point, grandsire” the candlestick spoke giving a small shrug of his arms.

“aegon!” alicent, the teapot, was quick to scold.

“i was only joking. i cam down here for you, m’lady.” aegon, the candlestick, spoke. your eyes were still wide looking at the furniture that was speaking to you. “we cannot let you starve up here, now can we. i invite you to be our guest.”

authors note: apologizes for how short it is! tumblr has a word limit now. please consider commenting, reblogging, etc. all of it really helps my self esteem in my writing and honestly makes my day. but if you do not desire to do so, no worries! thank you for making it this far.

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quillthrillswriting · 2 days

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art credits<3: @l-a-l-o-u

ever wanted kataang as a little mermaid retelling, with a bit of an extra romantasy twist?

i present- "you with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes"

years ago, the spirits tui and la split the earth between the sky and the sea. however, they did not lose all hope for the rejoining of earth's peoples- tui blessed one avian a generation with the gifts of the mighty avatar, while la carefully selected one siren to grow into the role of the painted lady. the two were their little sliver of hope- hope that one day, the siren and the air-rider would fulfill their destiny, would find a way to reunite the tribes, would be able to root out the poison seeping through the land.

OR: a KATAANG AU where aang is a winged avian and katara is a siren!!!

the following are excerpts from this in-progress work: <3

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Avatar Aang had been told time and time again that to venture across the surface of the sea when the moon had risen and claimed what rightfully belonged to it was to sign your own death certificate.

And yet, he found himself here, at the water’s edge, skipping stones, lost in thought.

To be the Avatar had once meant something, years before. Before the four tribes had separated, scattered to the ends of the earth. Those who formed fire itself chased the other tribes from the surface lands, those who could move rock and metal burrowed underground, those who flowed with the air sent ships with great sails across the sea until they reached towering mountain spires.

Those who bent water, who bent blood… they retreated to the depths of the sea, and with time, they became a part of it. Legend told of the way in which the Water tribes had adapted, two legs smoothed into razor sharp scales and voices twisted into something dark and luring.

Now, they were the monsters known as sirens.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

As if in answer, the winds of the sea whispered back his own song, the melody made haunted. He made to turn himself away, to find shelter for the night, but that very whispering gave him pause. There was a different quality about it, something feminine, not simply his own voice reflected back. His instincts told him to duck, to crawl, and he did, bracing himself against a stone at the beach’s edge. The sound was louder here. He turned around the rock, wincing in anticipation…

…Only to be met with the sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He understood all at once why so many men had fallen prey to the charms of the siren.

For this girl to even gift him a wayward glance, he would build a temple. A religion.

She looked like a painting come to life, a sculpture kissed by the spirits themselves.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“I thought that sirens made a point of dragging Airriders to the depths of the ocean long before either party exchanged names.”

“Did you truly think so little of me?”

“The legends seem to think very little of you, at least. Me? I’m still making up my mind.” Aang tossed her a teasing grin.

“You seem fairly calm for a man who believes his fate to be sealed.” Katara raised her eyebrows, crossing her slender arms over one another.

“If my destiny is to spend the last few moments of my life at the side of such a lovely enchantress, who am I to fight it?”

“Handsome and a charmer. Is that your plan, to lull and seduce me into a sense of false security so that you can send a blast of air at my gills and leave me stranded in the bay?”

“If I’m remembering correctly, you are meant to be the lulling seductress of the two of us.”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

He smiled down at her, reaching out to take her hand in his and press his lips against her perfect skin. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Katara.”

She pushed herself up off of her elbows, reaching up to brush her lips against his cheek. “The pleasure has been all mine, Airrider Aang.” With that, she slipped back under the waves of the sea, and Aang was left to wonder if the entire exchange of words had been nothing more than the spirited imaginings of a madman stranded and drowned at sea.

♥ if you want to stick around for this to come out, feel free to head over to my ao3 here! ->

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icejello · 3 months

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Anyways svsss au idea but it's The Little Mermaid, it's not gonna follow the original story per se. Who's the little mermaid? Luo Binghe ofc, he's been BEGGING his dad (yes it's tianlang-jun) to let him go up to the human world but his dad said noooo bcs humans are dangerous (is it bcs binghe's mom was actually human and they killed her with the reasoning that she betrayed humanity by being with mermaids? Um sorry Su Xiyan but you will have to be dead in this one).

It's not like life is that dull for little binghe, there's his older cousin zuzhi-lang and there's also his friends mobei-jun and sha hualing but none of them seems that interested in exploring the human world and he's just so CURIOUS.

And on his 17th bday he practically begged his father to just let him take a peek and he promises he won't go alone, he'll bring his friends and his cousin can join too for extra measure! Surely it won't be that dangerous, right? Tlj finally gave in but on the one condition that binghe must NOT interact with any of the humans.

Binghe is thrilled! He went up and the sun was just setting and the sky was such a beautiful color. And then he noticed the ship. It was majestic, huge, he's seen wreckage of them on the sea bed but he NEVER saw them actually sailing on water and he was awed. He didn't expect a more breath taking sight could ever appear in that same moment but it happened and he saw a young man standing on the ship. He was beautiful with a smile on his lips as he stared out into the ocean.

But then disaster strikes! A sudden storm appeared and the ship somehow got damaged. There was yelling everywhere and binghe wanted to swim over and help but his cousin held him back bcs he promised his father he would not interact with the humans. But then he saw the pretty man fall from the boat and he ignored everything else to go and save that stranger. He managed to save the man and laid him at the beach where he hoped someone would find him.

Zuzhi-lang immediately dragged all of them back as soon as binghe was satisfied that the human would be safe. He didn't hesitate to report it to his uncle and his father got angry (he was worried). Binghe argued that it wasn't just him! He saw mobei save a man too! But mobei never made any promise to not interact with a human so that excuse did not work.

As soon as he could get away, he immediately went to the beach where he had left the man but he wasn't there! Binghe was stressed, did something happened to him? He was tempted to go on land to check it out but someone pulled him back and he's surprised to see mobei glaring at him. His friend asked him what he's thinking and binghe admitted he was worried about the man that he had saved. After having to watch binghe continuing to look increasingly and obviously nervous, mobei could not stand it anymore and asks him why he didn't just use his power to disguise himself as a human.

This surprised little binghe ofc bcs what? Power to disguise himself as human? That's the first he's heard of it. Mobei just explains how the mermaids from the royal blood line all have a special power to turn themselves into human but it doesn't last long and they need to always return to the sea or they would turn to a sea foam and that the disguise can easily be ruined if they come in touch with water bcs scales would show up.

Binghe is intrigued, he's curious, he's excited, he's nervous. He begged mobei to teach him and he only agreed to it after binghe would not shut up about it the whole way back. Now binghe is a great learner, it didn't take him long to learn it and the next day he immediately went up to look for the pretty stranger. Mobei-jun pointed out to him a spot where some clothes are hidden bcs as mbj said "he can't walk around naked" and binghe has no idea how mbj knew about those hidden stash of clothes but he didn't question it bcs there are more important things at hand!

Walking with legs felt weird ofc, this was a first for him. He struggled and practiced to find his balance and when he was confident enough, he went deeper into the land to look for the stranger. It wasn't long before he reached a city and he was mesmerized. The buildings looks nothing like what he's ever seen in the sea, there's so many ppl walking around, he sees little children running around playing, there are writings that he's never seen of and he momentarily forgot what he was there for. Binghe reminded himself that he's there for a mission and he shouldn't stay there too long.

He walked around, he didn't know where to start, there's so many ppl and it's such a big place, where does he even start with? But then he passed by a group of ladies and they were talking about how handsome the young man they just passed is. Binghe didn't question it and immediately ran towards the direction the ladies came from. He almost ran pass but stopped dead in his track when he finally caught sight of the pretty stranger sitting under a tree. He had a slightly annoyed look on his face and had a small frown as he listened to the young man sitting beside him ramble on.

Binghe watched, rooted in spot, as the stranger lightly smacked the other guy with a hand fan. He heard the guy call him something that sounded like "cucumber-bro" and the only thing he could think of was the sea cucumbers. Binghe must've made a sound in confusion because the both of them suddenly turned to look at him. It caught him off guard and he immediately turned to run away when he saw the pretty stranger opened his mouth to say something but instead he ran into another young man and fell down. The young man glared down at him and he heard the pretty man tell him to leave him alone. Binghe felt like his voice is as lovely as his face.

Binghe ran away as fast as he could but he managed to hear something about that newly arrived young man as the pretty man's fiance. It didn't make that much sense to binghe, they didn't look like they were a couple if anything it seemed like there's an air of awkwardness between them! That was when he passed by a few ppl talking about how lucky it is for Liu Qingge to save a pretty man like Shen Yuan and immediately got his hand in marriage as a reward. Someone interjected that Shen Yuan is the lucky one bcs Liu Qingge is obviously a very beautiful guy with great fighting skills. Now little binghe did not know who those people who was mentioned were but he could sense they were talking about the pretty stranger and that guy he ran into! Personally, binghe thinks that whoever marries Shen Yuan is obviously the lucky one, it's not like that guy Liu Qingge looks THAT good! But there were more important details from the conversation that he just heard! Lqg is marrying Shen Yuan bcs he saved him but he didn't! It was Binghe that saved the pretty guy! So if anything, it should be HIM that marries the pretty guy!

Binghe realized it was late and went back to the sea feeling annoyed. How could someone just CLAIM they did something they didn't?! He knew his father would be anxious at him disappearing for so long and would be angry if he knew where he actually was but now is not the time! Binghe escaped to the land every chance he can and sometimes he would find Shen Yuan there at the tree again but sometimes he would have to go home with nothing. Binghe ranted and complained to his friends. How is that fair? It was him that saved Shen Yuan why does someone else get to be rewarded for it! They're tired of his whining about someone else marrying his little crush and shl accidentally suggested that binghe goes visit the sea witch.

Binghe didn't understand, he's heard of the sea witch but he doesn't need powers to be able to turn himself into human. But when he heard about how he could try asking the sea witch for a spell that would let him stay longer on land without water ruining his disguise, he was determined. Mbj glared at shl for that suggestion and she realized her mistake when she saw the determined look on binghe's face. Luo Binghe is a prince and the only child of tlj, what would happen if he found out that they told his son to go make a deal with the sea witch? He would kill them! They tried to change his mind but he would no longer listen to them, he was set on being able to tell Shen Yuan the truth.

A deal comes with a price and binghe lost his ability to talk bcs of it. He's not mute, he's just no longer able to talk unless he gets true love's kiss. He rushes to land and as luck would have it, ran head first into Shen Yuan. He was kind enough to help little binghe up and he immediately recognized him as the boy that's always watching him but would immediately run away if he was spotted. Shen Yuan tried to ask him for his name but lbh despaired when he realized that he could not tell him. Shen Yuan thought Binghe was an orphan because he didn't respond when he asked about where he lives despite seemingly able to understand him.

Shen Yuan took Binghe under his wings and realized hey, this kid seems to not know that many things. He didn't seem to understand a lot of things at the house, even the most basic and simplest things. Shen Yuan tutors teens and kids in his spare time, either teaching them academics or some self defense skill, so it didn't bother him to have another new boy to teach. Though it seemed like the boy is not able to speak, he does learn quickly and it wasn't long before he was able to tell Shen Yuan who his name is through writing. Shen Yuan enjoys the times he spent with his new disciple, he seemed to get along well with the other 2 older kids that often gets tutored by Shen Yuan too. Actually, Luo Binghe seemed to get along with everyone just fine except for one person, Liu Qingge.

Shen Yuan's parents keeps pushing him to set the wedding date but he keeps pushing it back bcs he wasn't ready. He was grateful ofc that Liu Qingge saved him but it wasn't him that decided to get married as a reward! That was his parents! And some things doesn't make sense to Shen Yuan, Lqg claimed to only found him at the beach, he denies being the one to save him but if that was the truth then who saved him? But his parents took it as lqg only being modest and now they're both stuck in this engagement. Still, as stressing as everything is, binghe felt like a breath of fresh air to him. Truly, he never met a guy like that, he doesn't seem to understand a lot of things when he first arrived but he didn't seem dumb.

How long would it take little binghe to finally reveal the truth to shen yuan? Will he ever confess? Will Shen Yuan reciprocate his feelings? Well that will all be revealed if i actually do write this.

#svsss #bingqiu #svsss au #if you're wondering who the guy that mbj saved was and tried to guess it then you're right #it is shang qinghua #and the clothes were from him too #you might be wondering why I'm using the name shen yuan instead of shen qingqiu #well it's bcs the parents i mentioned earlier for shen yuan are actually yue qingyuan and shen jiu #you can try to take that away from me bcs i would NOT let that idea go #and ofc since it's me i would not hold back from sprinkling some angst in this #am i going to make bingyuan go through the same problem and tianxi back then? y-#long post #sorry for it being so long #i didn't expect it either #but here take it if it's anything

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