#how do selkie genetics work?

[moonbeamnights]

OUAT AU that I need in my life: Milah the selkie. Because this woman has the most selkie whose human husband stole her seal coat and now she's trapped vibes that you can possibly have without actually being a selkie. And Rumple totally just... Would Do That.

Also the Millian in this AU! Killian going with her to look for the seal skin or finding it himself and giving it back, just helping her find it either way 🥺 The romance!

#once upon a time #ouat #ouat milah #killian jones #millian #anti rumple #my post #also the layers this adds to rumple's whole Killian stole my wife thing #like no dude technically YOU stole your wife #from herself #if anything Killian unstole her #also also #how do selkie genetics work? #like do you need both selkie parents? #or could we have selkie baelfire and perhaps even selkie Henry? #also also also #THE selkie quote #when a selkie finds its skin neither chains of love nor chains of steel can keep her from the sea #I watched the secret of roan inish so many times as a kid #and I think that quote Did Something to me #but that quote is very Milah #so many thoughts #I swear I'm going to write selkie Milah fic someday

[xenosaurus]

question about sealskins: how do trans shapeshifters work? do their bodies know they're trans before they do and shift that way automatically? could they consciously shift their natural state when they realize their gender identity? or does it take gender affirming surgeries to 'reset' their natural state?

you got ahead of me-- Leo Harp is trans! the fun selkie-themed name isn't an alias, it's his chosen name.

there are two answers to this general line of thought!

in practice, most trans shapeshifters use conscious shapeshifting to transition, and do some mild "touchup" shifting once a week or so. it's roughly the same effort as remembering to take a T shot, without the need to involve a doctor.

it's remarkably easy shapeshifting and can usually be accomplished before a kid is old enough for a full copy-- most commonly gendered body parts like genitals are formed from early development tissue that is found in every viable fetus (shoutout to my old pal the mesonephric duct) that is then changed from being exposed to hormones, so you don't have to "borrow" anything from another person. you already have the genetic coding for the basis! physical sex is much less intrinsic and binary than society treats it so it's super easy for shapeshifters to mess with.

in THEORY, though, if you wanted to change your baseline form so that you didn't have to keep up the shapeshifting, you can change your "natural" state with surgery or medication. it's just a lot harder than having a bowl of spaghetti to carboload and making some changes.

#sealskins #sorry for the biology dump in here lol

[bandizoi]

Long post warning.

I’ve put off writing this here for a long time but this was one of my first large social media audiences and you all have been so kind and involved in my journey. I am writing about it here because everyone who is looking at getting a borzoi should be aware of this.

TW: pet death

On April 18th, exactly one year after I brought Selkie home from Texas, I found her dead in my yard, what we call “sudden death”. 13 days prior, her sire passed away from sudden death as well. He was nearing 6 years of age. Selkie was 14 months old. I don’t have it in me to write it all out, all over again, but I did make a blog post about it on my website here.

Sudden death is something that can affect different breeds but looks different from one breed to the next. In borzoi, we are looking at fatal cardiac arrhythmias. One moment they are with us and then, just as the name describes, they are suddenly gone. Because this is an electrical issue in the heart, necropsies often look completely normal. A normal necropsy is the hallmark of borzoi sudden death. Selkie and her sire’s necropsies looked normal.

Unfortunately we don’t have a way to differentiate the arrhythmias that borzoi can survive, from the ones that are fatal. We know this is genetic, but we don’t have a genetic test for it. We can do 24 hour holter monitors to see a snap shot in that moment of whether a dog is having arrhythmias or not. But, a dog can have 0 abnormalities during that 24 hours and then several in the next day, weeks, months, years. There are dogs that have hundreds of arrhythmias in 24 hours and live normal lives. There are dogs that have 1 or 2 and then drop dead the next day. It sucks. It’s horribly traumatic for everyone who loves the dog. The silver lining is that it is a very quick way for them to go. There are anti arrhythmic drugs that can reduce arrhythmias and that’s something that can be discussed with a cardiologist.

Holter tests aren’t part of the required CHIC testing for the breed, but I strongly encourage anyone who is thinking about getting a borzoi to ask every breeder:

How many holters has the breeding pair had (I personally will be doing at least 3 before making breeding decisions).

Ask the breeder to SEE the results. An absolutely ideal holter has zero singles, pairs, runs, complexities. Anything over 10 VPCs makes me squirm. Over 50 is considered abnormal per the large breed guidelines.

Where has sudden death occurred in the pedigree

Prospective borzoi owners asking this of their breeders is likely the best possible way to encourage more breeders to do this.

If you own a borzoi and you want to holter test them, there are a few reduced cost options. Members of the Borzoi Club of America can rent a holter— info here. Any borzoi owner can rent a holter from the Borzoi Health and Welfare Foundation— info here. If you want to purchase your own holter monitor, you can do so through alba medical.

We have 3 cardiac studies in the works to try to somehow get a handle on this thing. The borzoi club of america has a holter study. Texas A&M University has an echocardiogram study. And Dr. Kelly at Penn State is studying the hearts of dogs who had sudden death. Because we now have a direct line from sire to daughter of sudden death submitted to the study, including lung samples for gene sequencing, we may be a bit closer to getting a handle on the genetics behind this.

And as I mentioned in my linked blog post above this is not yet so prevalent that owners should expect their dogs to die of sudden death. Which is why it’s so important for the community to be proactive, now. Before it becomes unavoidable. I’m writing all of this not to scare people out of the breed, and I truly hope I don’t. But I do want everyone to be aware of this if they are considering a borzoi. I would be in a much darker place if I didn’t know what I was looking at when I found Selkie in my yard.

#TW: pet death #pet death #dog death #Selkie #sudden death #borzoi

[wiiwarechronicles]

oooh i am so curious about your siren lore now, please tell us about it, it sounds really cool so far :00

Putting this ALL under read more because it is long and is sort of just me infodumping. Regardless I’m glad you asked because I LOVEEE my fish folk. TL;DR: sirens are weird and territorial and I don’t think fundy will ever meet a partial siren besides his mom and daughter.

Sirens are a psychic species. Any music they create (be it singing or playing instruments) can make people feel intense unexplainable emotions. A lot of siren based incidents involved ship crews killing each other or jumping overboard because of their songs. Certain Sirens specialize in specific emotions! Sally for example would make people overwhelmingly happy with her singing, almost to the point of mania. Fundy’s piano playing is much more melancholic and uncomfortable. It’s common for a siren’s specialty to change after a big life moment! (I have no idea if Granola inherited this ability, maybe if I think of something cool she’ll get it)

Sirens also have natural clairvoyance and dream walking abilities, which they can hone in through training and meditation. Controlling it takes a lot of hard work and so most just opt to learning how to put up mental barriers so they don’t have to deal with it. Without proper training or blocking, visions are heavily unreliable and much more vague. Unfortunately fundy was never taught how to do either so his brain just kind of runs wild and torments him. He’s had these types of dreams his entire life but they only became noticeable to him after doomsday broke his brain, when his mental health starts to improve they ease on him.

Sirens are also VERY tight knit and territorial. There aren’t that many at all left as sirens were thought to be crazed murderers killing people every chance they got and were hunted to near extinction out of fear. There r small groups all over the world and they use their magic to drive humans away from their waters. They’re very wary of their communities ever being discovered so it’s common for sirens who have made connections to people outside of siren water to be kicked out of the group and shunned. Rare exceptions do exist but Wilbur and Sally were not one of them! ! . It’s sort of what ended up killing sally actually. In any case non sirens that live in siren water with a partner cannot leave it and cannot communicate with anyone . They also can’t have children because half sirens are seen as a bad omen. Fundy was already born by the time Sally’s family found out about Wilbur 😔 Sally hasn’t seen her parents or siblings since

That was all the big stuff but I do have a bunch of smaller ideas floating around in my head <3 . Unlike hybrids whose ability to shapeshift is based on their genetics, sirens turning into fish is a LEARNED skill. It’s up to older sirens to teach younger ones how to do it. Sally died before she was able to teach fundy and thus granola never learned to either :( also sirens have VERY strong teeth and jaws because they regularly bite through huge crabs and raw fish. Sirens also run around butt naked most of the time because clothes are impractical in the water and no one in their right mind would wear kelp panties. It takes sally a WHILE to get used to getting dressed everyday when she starts living with Wilbur full time . Despite this sirens often wear jewelry made from shells and pearls and metals bent using thermal vents. When Sally first fell in love with Wilbur she gave him a necklace made with an abalone shell and he still has it. Because he still loves her very much. OH OH and the one species they DO interact with besides themselves are selkies which are immune to their songs. Though sirens will still be cast out for having a relationship or a child with a selkie . Okay that’s it BYE!!!

#araksi413 #maidsmop #parfait au #I AGONIZED SO MUCH OVER POSTING THIS YOU UAVE NO IDEA. #at the time of writing these tags this thing has been saved in my drafts forever I amso sorry

[mantisgodsaus]

New blog moment /pos

Hello! I am here to formally request you may or may not tell me more about this selkieverse. Is it an au where everyone is a selkie (or at least, some bugs are)? Do they just turn into aquatic like bugs instead of actual seals? If actual seals, do you have species picked out for the selkie characters yet? How does it work? Are they even selkies at all? Once more, you don't have to answer if its information you'd like to withold but as local marine biology (mostly seals and jellyfish though) nerd I must know if this may be an au that is like. Right up my alley.

Oh boy, we can answer questions! Technically, we've had this blog for a bit, we just... haven't been using it (we are afflicted with a chronic need to illustrate our worldbuilding and we just Haven't Been Drawing recently).

Not everyone is a selkie, but some bugs are - actual species varies! They're seals, or other assorted... vertebrates, mostly. "Selkie", here, is less referring specifically to seals and more referring to the general category of Bugs With Bonus Pelt. We've got actual species picked out for the selkie characters, but we do want to keep a few under wraps - of the few we can reveal, Leif is a ribbon seal, Mothiva is a leopard seal, Cenn is a yellow-bellied water snake, and Vi... well, her pelt was an ermine.

In terms of how it works - selkies are, more or less, bugs that come in two... pieces, or with two forms. It's genetic, though it can very much skip generations and occasionally appears to manifest from nowhere - generally, you have a few main strains of selkie in an area, maybe with a scattering of other species around. Seals are by far the most common around both Bugaria and The North, and the gene's most common in moths (as far as anyone knows), though it can appear in other species - and, as previously mentioned, sometimes you just get a kid who's a selkie without any previous selkie relatives.

A selkie's pelt isn't present upon hatching, but manifests later - generally either when they metamorphose, in the case of bugs like moths and butterflies, or during one of their first few instars on bugs who do That. It is, functionally, a part of them - a selkie cannot be separated from their pelt for too long, though they can wander farther from it with age and practice, and trying to keep away from it causes fun side effects (like organ failure, and feeling like you're being physically peeled out of your shell, and death).

The pelt itself is, as is typical with selkies, a pelt - seal, or snake, or ermine, or whatever else someone might be. Looks like you'd expect a seal pelt to be - although a selkie's pelt contains a few more bones. Generally, you've got a skull, spine, and ribcage, but it's not uncommon to have a few other bones - they shape the skin, more or less. As is standard, once the skin is donned, they gain the form of their pelt, but the selkie has some control over it - as well as some control over how the pelt moves.

The thing about selkie pelts is that, as they're a part of the selkie, they're functionally "alive" - an extension of the self, an extra limb. Technically, anyone can don a selkie pelt and take on the form of whatever creature they are, but it'll be... strange. Uncanny. They aren't the selkie, and this isn't their form - they're just wearing their skin. Unlike on the selkie themself, the bones aren't going to merge to them properly, they're just going to stick in there, wearing away at their shell until they eventually take it off. A pelt only retains its transformative properties while the selkie it belongs to is alive - once they bite it, it becomes just a piece of leather, though with selkie skin being the only real option as far as skins go, it's still pretty damn valuable dead.

If a selkie's pelt is destroyed, the selkie dies. Likewise, if a selkie dies, the pelt becomes inert. It's a bit like holding a vital organ in your hand - and if the selkie and the pelt are taken too far apart, the connection is severed and the selkie will die even if no damage is dealt to either them or their pelt.

As is standard for selkie mythology, having a selkie's pelt gives you some measure of control over them. Specific degree of control varies, largely based on the selkie - though all selkies can be commanded while you're actively holding their pelt, if they'll keep following that command once you've put it down is a whole 'nother ball park. If you had Leif's pelt in hand and told him to do something, he'd keep doing it even if you put that pelt down later, but if you tried the same with Vi (again, while she had it) she'd stop the second you put it down. With Mothiva, just possessing the pelt is enough - you don't need direct contact, you just need to have it. The effect's at least partially psychosomatic - while it's a direct compulsion with direct contact, anything past that is largely based on if the selkie thinks you should be able to tell them what to do.

The selkie form itself is fairly standard as creatures of its species go, albeit downsized for bug scale. They're around the size they'd normally be relative to a human, relative to an average bug (using an ant as your Standard Human works, here). A selkie is, functionally, both their bug species and their pelt species - behaviors in one form will affect the other, and vice versa. Generally, this'll manifest most noticeably in either tics or diet - a craving for raw fish, an odd sense of territorialism, an impulse to drag dead things to your dumb, bad-at-hunting teammate. It does, however, vary - and a good chunk of selkies do try to keep the fact that they're selkies hidden, especially if they might have reason to fear a stolen pelt.

...this is a whole lot of rambling on Selkie Magic Mechanics and not a whole lot of marine biology, uhh. Hope this helps sketch out the general mechanics for ya! We're always glad to talk about Cool AUs!

#selkieverse #bf aus #selkieverse leif #selkieverse mothiva #selkieverse cenn #selkieverse vi #niko-jpeg #fun fact with standard seal pelts youll cut the flippers and the head off since they don't tan well #a selkie pelt keeps all the bits! its more or less the full skin of the beast including bits thatre just plain impractical to tan normally #also yes fish is a Thing You Can eat its just. not generally a good idea to hunt it as the fish are still Fish Size #leif has the ribbon seal air sac in both forms #mothiva would fucking eat him if she had a chance however she is smaller than him in moth form and he just #entirely lacks any form of self preservation instinct #muze and todd are also selkies but they keep it quiet for dont want their pelts fucking stolen reasons #leif is currently not aware hes a selkie in the first place and hes old enough of one that he has. a Very wide range on his pelt #pelt in question has been hanging up over the fireplace in muze's house ever since an. incident. with grandma muse #they never had the heart to get rid of it. she was Very certain her husband was alive in her old age #you know how it is. a bug gets old and their mind starts to go... always a pity #it does still feel like that pelt is... watching #and it has changed appearance a bit... but who's looking at those old photos anyways? #(leifs pelt has slowly changed color from dark rusty brown to a dark steely blue over the past. century) #(his pelt is not dead but it is Dormant. unfortunately he currently has no fucking clue its even his pelt unfortunately hes stupid) #(also the whole cordyceps thing did scramble his memory access a bit)

[corolune]

Also, if you're still doing the wip ask game, I'd love to hear about the Silkie story and sci-fi mermaids!

yes, I am absolutely still doing the WIP one, thank you for the ask!!

selkie story is my big WIP that I'm currently sharing on ao3, it's been ages since I last updated but I am still working on it and have the next few chapters all plotted out! It is basically an Alex Rider AU where Alex is a selkie (a mythical creature that can transform from a seal into a human and back by taking off/putting on its sealskin/fur coat). I don't even remember how I came up with this idea, but I love seals and selkies and folklore and it turned out to be a perfect analogy for how Alex doesn't fit in anywhere — he can't connect with normal school kids anymore (also probably never really could really fit with them to begin with since he's not only an orphan, but also Ian was a really weird parent), and he doesn't fit in the world of espionage (since he's still a kid), and he struggles to carve a space of his own. So this story became an interesting way to explore that. (plus seals are adorable 🦭)

sci-fi mermaids is an original story idea I had! I was envisioning a middle grade graphic novel when I first thought of this but I think it would work well as a normal fiction novel too. The premise is that mermaids, once thriving in wild oceans, have dwindled in number due to an exotic “pet” trade. In the name of conservation, many mermaids are kept in sanctuaries where scientists study their strange abilities and strive to create the "perfect" breed of mermaid through genetic engineering.

The main story centres around a young mermaid adopted into a wealthy family, whose children are obsessed with them. She often wonders about the ocean, and what it must be like to live with other mermaids. But she feels ungrateful to think of a life away from her family, who've given her a massive tank, and several natural ponds, and let her watch whatever she wants on tv, and spend so much time taking care of her and entertaining her and including her as part of the family. Especially when she's seen on the news of how badly some pet mermaids are kept...I'm still working out the actual plot but I have so much research and sketches of the characters and settings! Maybe I'll dig some of those up and share them on here someday.

#I'm sure the mermaid story comes as no surprise to anyone who's read my selkie fic 😂 #I came up with it years ago and I think a lot of elements trickled into the selkie story #also even though I didn't realize it at the time #I'm pretty sure it was inspired by the massive jellyfish tank of Sayle's from stormbreaker #and thinking of the poor jellyfish that he just trapped in there #but also why do rich people keep sharks and jellyfish and large fish in their houses/offices anyway #it just feels like a waste of resources?? surely they could find something better to showcase.... #I guess it's marginally better than having a whole entire lion/cheetah/tiger as a pet #alex rider #alex rider fanfiction #ask game #fic ask game #fic game #my writing #for the mermaid story i’ll never write #(that's my mermaid story tag lol) #selkie au #selkie alex

[cordycepsbian]

Tragic. We offer a semi-related question instead. Does your selkie Vi's selkie-ness come from her father, or is Bianca a selkie as well?

oh yeah that was one of the things we thought about. we tried applying the logic of selkies being a recessive gene and realized that that means all the queens need to have the gene for Anything to happen with their kids

we don't think it. makes sense story-wise for bianca herself to be a selkie but she would need to have the gene to make it make sense genetically. and THEN we remembered, while typing this, that bees only get 25% of their genes from their dads and now nothing makes sense anymore. why did we try applying this logic in the first place. what are we doing

conclusion: we forgot how bee genetics work and now we have a mess to clean up. but to answer your question vi did inherit the mouse-ness specifically from her dad

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part-Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Oviposition, Egg Laying, Birth, Surgery, Male Infertility Words: 4029

Dr. Halvorg learns what could be causing his infertility and makes arrangements to try and correct it. He and the reader become closer, and the reader attempts to do something to help him feel less lonely and unfulfilled. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Halvorg went in for the tests that same week, returning afterwards subdued and blushing slightly. You assumed he’d never given a… sample… before.

“How’d it go?” You asked him.

He rubbed his neck bashfully. “It was… thorough.”

You snickered. “At least it wasn’t a biopsy after an abnormal pap smear. Those are traumatic.”

He looked aghast. “I can only imagine.”

“Did they say when the results would be in?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re supposed to call me when they come back. Could be a week or so.”

You patted his arm softly. “How are you feeling?”

He sighed heavily. “Worried. This could change my life or confirm my worst fear. Either way, I’m… well, to be honest, I’m a little scared.”

“I understand,” You replied. “Well, no, I don’t. My family is disgustingly fertile. If I ever tried to get pregnant, I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long.” You looked up at him with sympathy. “But I do feel for you.”

“I appreciate that,” He said solemnly. He looked at you curiously. “If I might ask, how old are you?”

“I’ll be one hundred and seventy four years in August,” You said.

“And you’ve never considered having children in that time?” He asked.

“Not really. I figured I had enough nieces and nephews that I didn’t think it was necessary. I mean, I’m not against the idea of having children, I’ve just been career oriented for most of my life and never really settled down in any place for very long. I’ve never been married, never had any serious relationships, never dating with the intent on finding ‘the one.’ I figured if I wanted that, it would come in time and I would let it happen naturally and there was no need to rush it. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” He said. “That’s how I used to be for a good three centuries. It wasn’t until I did marry and tried to make a family and failed, again and again, that I sort of became… obsessed.”

“How many times have you been married?”

“Thirty times, I believe.”

“Were they all human?”

“Most of them were,” He said. “There were a couple of tieflings, a half-orc woman, a faun, a selkie, and a dryad. I stayed with them all until the end of their lives, except the last one who left me. I’m nothing if not devoted.” He cocked his head. “Well, I divorced the dryad. She wasn’t happy that I couldn’t conceive children and berated me for it.”

“Oh, jeez, what a bitch,” You said, frowning.

He snorted. “I may have used similar language at the time.”

“I can’t imagine you calling someone a bitch,” You said, side-eyeing him.

“I was a different man in my youth,” He said, smiling. “I’ve got some papers to file. I’ll see you later.”

You waved him off, watching him walk briskly and frowned. He’d lost so much, been disappointed so often, given up on the things he wanted for himself to help others. He was using what he had to give others what he wanted, and as noble a pursuit as that was, it was also rather sad. And what if he got the news he was dreading the most. He’d be devastated.

Was there anything you could do to make him feel better? Was there something you could give him that would make him feel less… incomplete? The only time he seemed genuinely happy was when he was with the children. What else could give him the same joy?

The boy. It came to you suddenly. What about the boy he thought was his son? The one he raised until his mother left with him? Could you find him? Was he alive?

At lunchtime, you sat down with Amai in the cafeteria.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” You asked.

“Sure, what is it?” She responded, sipping her coffee. She always craved coffee when she was incubating and downed gallons of it after laying.

“The boy Halvorg raised, what was his name?”

“Robert, I think?” She said. “I can ask Yenuno, he knows.”

“What year was he born?”

“Uhhh… 1901 or around there.”

“What was his mother’s name?”

“Martha--why are you asking about this?”

You sighed. “I want to find Halvorg’s son. He may be dead now, but I have to try. Halvorg is so unhappy, he’s just gotten really good at hiding it. I want to give him some kind of closure.”

Amai winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Spending all these years around him, I can see how much he’s hurting, even if he tries to mask it.” She sighed. “I have some contacts at the census archives and I can make some inquiries. I’ll check the lineages websites and find as many records as I can.” Amai snorted. “Maybe he’ll be less uptight.”

“Amai!” You retorted.

“Sorry, sorry!” Amai held her hands up. “I’m sorry, it’s a reflex by now, sorry. This is serious. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” You said with a warning tone. “This is serious.”

“I know,” Amai said, her face more solemn. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” You repeated. “I’m sorry to put more work on you, though.”

She tsked at you. “Please, I always take maternity leave during Yenuno’s time incubating. I generally have nothing to do but keep the big guy company while he’s stuck in one place. It’ll give me something to do.”

Halvorg got the call a few days later and informed you of the appointment time. You offered to drive him, and he gratefully accepted.

“Are you alright?” You asked him.

He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I don’t know. This is either a new beginning or the end of the road. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I’ll be with you, no matter what,” You told him.

He grimaced in a failed attempt to smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat in the waiting room for a moment before being called back into an exam room. He sat there in his chair and fidgeted nervously. You put your hand on his and held it. He looked up at you with fear in his eyes and didn’t shake you off.

The doctor knocked on the door and let himself in. Halvorg straightened up, releasing your hand.

“Alright, Dr. Halvorg,” He said, sitting at the table. “We Have your results back. Blood and urine came back normal, and there’s nothing abnormal on your x-rays.” He flipped on the computer screen on the desk in front of him and pulled up Halvorg’s file. “However, there was abnormalities in your sperm sample and the MRI.”

“What type of abnormalities?”

“Well, first of all, your semen sample didn’t have any sperm in it.”

Halvorg looked confused. “What?”

“It’s a condition known as Azoospermia. It’s basically when there’s a blockage somewhere that’s trapping the sperm, which is why there weren’t any little swimmers in your sample.” The doctor clicked on one of the tabs and opened an MRI of Halvorg’s pelvic area and pointed out the anomalies. “The MRI confirms it. There doesn’t appear to be a connection between your epididymus and your vas diferens, and without that connection, the sperm is completely blocked. There’s also a blockage from your testes to the urethra. You appear to have been born with all of these blockages.”

“How does that happen?”

“As to that,” The doctor said, looking at the paperwork he came in with. “Your genetics test came back, and it appears that you have a mutation of Cystic Fibrosis. Thankfully, with this mutation, there are no other typical symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis besides the infertility.”

“Can it be corrected?” Halvorg asked anxiously.

“Yes, microsurgery can correct it. Before we do that, we’ll need to take a sample directly from the testicle with a needle to see if you’re producing sperm at all and look at the count. If we determine that the general sperm production is not the problem, then we’ll proceed with surgery.”

Halvorg sat in a stunned silence, gripping his knees tightly.

“So… it’s possible that I could have children?” He asked.

“There is a possibility,” The doctor said. “We would have to wait until after the surgery and take another sample. I don’t want to get your hopes up too soon, the sperm count could be low, they could be abnormal. There are a bunch of things that could go wrong.”

“But there’s a chance?” Halvorg asked, his eyes as wide and vulnerable as a puppy.

“There’s a chance,” The doctor replied.

As the two of you left the clinic and headed to your car, before you could get to your door, Halvorg gently took your arm, swung you around, took your face in his hands, and kissed you full on the mouth. You made a sound of surprise, but you didn’t push him away.

He lingered for a moment or two before breaking away and saying, “I’m sorry, I know that was extremely unprofessional and probably unwanted, but I don’t know how to thank you. I owe you so much, I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.” He gulped and looked at you earnestly, breathing out a shaky breath. “Do you remember when you asked me to dinner?”

“Yeah?” You asked, confused but intrigued by the sudden softening of his prickly exterior.

“Does the offer still stand?”

You smiled at him slowly and took his hands. They were trembling. This was the first time in a century he’d asked a woman out, after all.

“Yeah,” You replied, stepping closer so that your body lightly brushed his. “Yeah, it does.”

He smiled wide and kissed you again.

Maël went in the next day to have a sample taken, and was thrilled to learn that he did have a decent amount of sperm production. He scheduled the surgery immediately. The recovery time would be at least six weeks, and it was advised that he didn’t try to have sexual relations for another two weeks after that. Plenty of time to feel out your new blooming relationship and get more comfortable with each other.

Thankfully, you had a week to actually go on a few dates before he went under the knife. He took you to Dunmountain on a weekend trip to the museum and the opera. It was the first time you’d done anything like this recreationally in a really long time, and you loved every second of it.

Even though you were sharing a hotel room and a bed, he didn’t attempt to be intimate with you, and you didn’t push him. It had been a century since he last took a woman to bed, and you imagined he felt a little nervous about it.

You didn’t go out of your way to tell people that you were together, but it wasn’t a big secret either. Yenuno and Amai were overjoyed for the two of you. Maël had told Yenuno and Amai about the surgery, but he claimed it was a hernia. You weren’t sure if he would tell them the whole truth. Not unless he got the results he wanted.

By the time he healed completely, it would be about time for the eggs to hatch. Yenuno was already restless and it had only been a month.

You drove Maël to the surgical clinic on the day of his surgery, sat with him in pre-op while he waited nervously and just talked him through his anxiety, holding his hand when they put the IV in. They gave him some medicine to help calm his nerves, and he began to grow sleepy. You stroked his head and watched his eyes fluttered closed. They wheeled him into surgery while he was still snoozing.

The procedure didn’t take very long, only about an hour, and you waited to be called back. A nurse came to retrieve you and took you to his room.

He lay there in bed, drifting in and out.

“Hey, sweetie,” You said, rubbing his arm. “How are we feeling?”

“Sore and thirsty,” He croaked.

You picked up the cup with water in it the nurse had provided and helped him take a sip.

“I’m not surprised you’re sore,” You remarked, setting the cup back down. “A whole bunch of people fondled your balls for an hour.”

He wheezed a laugh. You loved it when he laughed. It changed his whole face. “Did they say when they’d release me?”

“As soon as you can pee on your own, they’ll let you out of here. They said there would be swelling so it might be a while before you’re able to do it, though. I’ll wait.”

He held his hand out for yours and you took it.

“I feel like all I do these days is thank you,” He said. “I wish I could do as much for you as you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” You said. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. But I’ll keep you around. You’re cute.”

He breathed another laugh through his nose. “I’m glad. I’ve become rather fond of you.”

You kissed his knuckles. “Likewise.”

He managed to relieve himself right after dinnertime, and was declared clear to go home. You drove him back to the facility and helped him to bed. He was asleep before you left his apartment.

Heading back into your own apartment for the night and sat heavily on your couch. God, you needed to do laundry. It had been a chaotic few weeks.

You started picking up clothes that were strewn haphazardly over furniture, and while picking up a pair of jeans, a small book fell out.

Oh. Right. Maël’s research notes. You’d meant to give it back. Well, Maël was going to be recovering in bed for a few days and likely sleeping most of that time. You could give it back when he was back on his feet. You placed it in the drawer of your nightstand, stared at it for a minute, and went on to start laundry.

And promptly forgot about it for a second time.

Maël slowly healed, though he walked a little stiffly for a few weeks and was careful when sitting. He was a little more irritable than normal, but you imagined he was trying to adjust and was also still worried about whether or not the surgery had worked. He wouldn’t know for another several weeks.

The children kept bringing him flowers they found in the forest to cheer him up, which always seemed to lift his spirits. You spent the evenings with him, talking and cuddling and kissing. You felt like a teenager again, and you hadn’t been a teenager in over one hundred and fifty years.

You were starting to regret the timing of the surgery, though. Sometimes the making out would get pretty hot and heavy, and you had to force yourselves to stop for fear of injuring him.

One night after you’d been dating for just under two months, he was kissing your neck and began to unbutton your shirt. You stopped him.

“You haven’t been cleared for intercourse, have you?” You asked him.

“No, not yet,” He said, breathing heavily and biting his lip. His white-blonde hair was out of it’s normal clean braid and falling around his face. “But I can do something for you.” His hand drifted down your abdomen and between your thighs.

“Oh,” You said, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”

He slipped his hand into your panties and stroked you, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I haven’t done it in a while,” He said, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. “But I think I still know how to do this.”

He got up from the couch and pulled you by your legs gently so that you were laying flat, pushing up your skirt and pulling off your panties. He knelt back down on the couch, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He slowly spread your legs and pushed your knees upward. He started kissing and sucking the inside of your thigh while circling your bud with his thumb. You moaned and lay back into the cushions, giving over to the sensations.

As he kissed his way toward the apex, he slipped his middle finger inside you and thrust it gently in and out. You whimpered and gripped the couch, your hips grinding against his hand.

“Maël, please,” You breathed.

He growled low in his throat, sending a shockwave through your spine.

“Since you said please,” He whispered teasingly, and pressed his tongue to your clit. Your toes curled at the contact and you grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Oh god,” You whispered. “Maël.”

He placed his whole mouth over you, licking and sucking, adding another finger inside you. He certainly did remember how to do this.

“Fuck!” You said through gritted teeth, followed up by a shuddering moan, raising your head to watch him. He looked up at you through his long lashes and doubled his efforts, sucking your labia into his mouth and pulling, adding a third finger. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Still sucking, he grinned up at you and quirked an eyebrow. He withdrew his fingers and used his hands to push your knees into your chest to open you up wider. You grabbed his head with both hands and rocked your clit against his tongue.

You came as though hit by a bus, loud and violent. Your butt lifted off of the couch as you pulsed in ecstasy, screaming. You hoped the walls of his apartment were soundproof. You couldn’t believe that he’d made you come in under a minute.

“How? How did you do that?” You wheezed.

He chuckled darkly. “I was married thirty times, darling. If I don’t know what I’m doing by now, I shouldn’t be dating at all.”

You just sort of laid there like a starfish while you got your breath back and cooled down. Maël went to fetch you some water and a snack. Eventually, you found your underwear and put it back on. Once your heart rate had slowed, he pulled you into his lap and kissed you slowly until you fell asleep. The next morning, you woke up next to him in his bed. You were tucked up under his arm and he was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, both of your cellphones buzzed at once. Maël snorted awake and untangled himself from you, picking up his phone, looking at it, and jumping out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“The eggs are hatching!” He exclaimed hastily, pulling clothes out of drawers and putting them on hurriedly. You threw your clothes on and joined Maël’s mad dash for the door.

When you got to the receiving area, the kids were milling around inside, instructed to stay away from the cottage until the babies were born, but they were craning their necks to see what was happening.

Amai was in the shelter with Yenuno and several members of the hatching team, looking into the circle of his tail. She looked up and saw the two of you running up and shouted: “Hurry! They’re almost out!”

You and Maël darted up the ramp and looked down into the coil. All three of the eggs were cracked open and little arms and tails were poking out.

“Vitals?” Maël asked, donning a surgeon’s paper outfit and instructing you to do the same.

“Vitals are elevated but within acceptable range,” One of the nurses said.

“Good,” Maël said. “Alright, we just have to stand back. They’ll do most of the work.

Amai and Yenuno were watching the eggs hatch with awe on their faces. You supposed watching this never got old for them. You wondered if they would miss this now that they decided to stop laying.

Slowly, the little wiggling figures freed themselves from their shells and were crawling around on their hands, looking up at their parents. Maël used that distraction to examine them.

“No way…” He said in a hushed tone. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Amai asked a little shrilly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Maël said, grinning up at her. “They’re all girls.”

“What?!” Yenuno and Amai said in unison, looking at their new little ones.

From what Maël had told you, the ratio of male to female births of Blue Gill Nagas was disproportionately skewed in favor of males. One in twenty eggs contained a female. Having an entire clutch of females was extremely rare.

Yenuno and Amai cried with joy and excitement. They’d been hoping to have at least one more little girl. To get three in one go was overwhelming.

Maël supervised the clean up process, and when they were ready, Yenuno and Amai brought the three baby girls out and introduced them to their siblings. You watched on the ramp with Maël, smiling, and took his hand. He squeezed yours in return. Looking up at his face, you could see he was crying, too.

This is what Maël wanted. He wanted to be the first to say hello to his own child, to be the first to hold them, to be the first to tell them he loved them. He wanted to kiss their brow and dance with them when they were crying and sing them to sleep at night. To get on the floor and play with them and put bandaids on their knees when they scraped them. He was desperate to experience that again, like he had with his son.

After the hatching, Maël went to file the new birth paperwork and Amai and Yenuno and their children were spending the next few days together. That left you with nothing to do.

Back in your apartment, you lay in your bed, thinking about that morning over and over. The babies busting out of their shells, the look of joy on their parents’ faces, the mix of happiness and pain on Maël’s.

You sat up to get your lip balm from your night table, and again found the book. You really ought to give it back. You’d been absent-minded about this for too long.

You opened it, flipping through pages until you landed on the date you first arrived at the facility. Intrigued, you read it.

“Amai’s friend finally made it today. It was exciting to meet her; I’ve been following her career for so long. She’s done so much for the non-human community. Amai didn’t tell me how breathtakingly beautiful she was. My heart stopped when I saw her out of the window. I haven’t felt attraction like this in centuries.”

Oh. Oh god. This was his personal diary. You knew you should stop reading it, but couldn’t. You had no idea he’d felt this way.

“I think I’m flirting with her, but I’m not trying to. I can’t help it. She’s funny and intelligent and everything I love in a woman. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying so hard to stay professional, but I can seem to stop smiling around her.”

The next entry was the day you asked him to dinner.

“She asked me out on a date tonight. It was so hard to say no, but there’s no point, is there? She won’t want me if she knows I can’t have children. She’ll either leave me or mock me. There’s no point. I’ll avoid her. That’s all I can do. It’s best if I don’t get closer to her. Even friendship is dangerous. I’m already half in love with her, and I don’t think I could take it if we started a relationship and she ended up pitying me or disgusted. I can’t do it again.”

There were no more mentions of you in the book after that. You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears hit the page.

It was then that you made a decision.

You took out your phone and dialed your gynecologist’s office. “Hi, Grace, I’d like to schedule a consultation with the doctor about canceling my next birth control injection.”

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Fae

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 25

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Nothing to do but talk.

Martin and Jon settle in for a movie night.

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch. 

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night. 

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ‘adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?” 

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-” 

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy. 

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded. 

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation. 

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her. 

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be. 

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success. 

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.” 

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences. 

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion. 

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

--

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright? 

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place 

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly. 

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #selkie au

[shirecorn]

How would you imagine different selkie species interacting with each other?

So in my world, selkies are a branch off of homosapians that encountered a magical gene editing spell that basically acted as a virus millions of years ago. That branched off into all shapeshifting human and human adjacent classes. Vampires and werewolves are humans with a transmissible mutation, while selkies ended up speciating and encoding the altered DNA into their genetics, passing them along to children and eventually adapting themselves to be a species apart from humans completely.

Within the selkie species, there are subspecies for every species of seal. I call them subspecies because they’re more similar genetically than animal seals.

Selkies have their own sets of cultures according to how they were raised. There are those that integrate with humans, either openly or stealthily, and adopt/adapt the culture, naming conventions, etc etc of the humans they live with.

Other selkies live in “colonies” of a few hundred to a few thousand individuals. These selkies will either make their own villages to live in as humans, or spend most of their time as seals. It depends on the culture of the colony, and the biological needs of the seal half.

In between that, selkies will live with humans but have either neighborhoods of other selkies or at least practice the culture of the colony they came from.

While it is possible to live among humans permanently, most selkies are migratory, and they need to move to different places of the world depending on the seasons. It’s not uncommon for selkies to stay in multiple houses depending on where they are at any given time of the year.

This need to migrate actually makes it less likely that a selkie will marry a human, as the human will have a much harder time keeping up with their partner as opposed to another selkie of the same subspecies. It’s generally not taboo or anything to marry a human or another seal type, but it’s like someone who needs to constantly travel to be happy settling down with someone who doesn’t want that. You just decide your lifestyles aren’t compatible.

Selkies of different species have different migration patterns. You might spend your summers hanging out with walrus selkies and your winters with monk seal selkies. Generally, you make friends with the selkies you coexist with, because you take up different niches and aren’t too much of a competitor to the other subspecies. If you do move in and start taking too many resources, you’ll have to work that out with the other colony through diplomacy. Some subspecies are more territorial than others and you’ll want to just avoid them.

For colonial migratory seals, they generally have their places set out that they return to every year, and everyone else has Their places and there’s no encroachment on each others territories. You might be a colony of elephant seals and know of another elephant seal colony a couple leagues away that you’re neighbors with every spring. You can visit and make friends with them, and you can make friends with the ringed seals who are also here.

Because selkies are a sentient species rather than animals, they’re good at established borders, properties, rules, laws, and treaties with other species. “You can have this seaside town in the summer and we’ll have it in the winter” etc.

Just don’t try to move in to an established migratory property without talking to its owners. That’s a dick move and everyone will hate you. 

Things have been fairly stable for centuries as migratory selkies visit their ancestral grounds knowing everything will be there when they get back. There’s probably a lot of spirituality that varies from species to species, colony to colony.

Generally, interactions between selkie subspecies are friendly, cordial, or business-like. Borders are already established, nobody fights for more unless they’re assholes, and you have your say bye to your neighbors knowing you’ll meet again next summer.

Back to marriage!

A migratory selkie might marry a human or a temporary neighbor and either follow their partner’s lifestyle or leave for part of the year. This is why human/selkie pairings are rare and also why jackasses hide their partner’s coat to prevent migration. For the same reason, inter-subspecies marriage is also rare. If you’re alright with leaving your partner for half the year, go ahead and marry a human.

HOWEVER! Non-migratory subspecies such as monk seals are much more inclined to get hitched to a human, especially if that human likes to spend a lot of time in the water. This is where most human-selkie hybrids come from (which is a whole other post!) A migratory and a non-migratory seal would have the same issue as a human and a migratory, whith one partner leaving and the other staying. There’s are definitely many relationships between species/sub-species, but it takes a certain amount of sacrifice to make it work. Being friend though, is free!

#long post #not art #ask #selkies #selkie #worldbuilding #vonder

[bibliocratic]

tread softly

S4 Canon Divergence + Mythological Creatures AU Mermaid!Sasha, Pheonix!Tim, Selkie!Martin

cws apply - see tags

Peter Lukas has always prided himself on the timing of his entrances.

He is not there, then he is. The ward slips colder, down into single digits. Martin gives a jerking shoulder-hunch motion when he notices his unexpected arrival, coupled with an intake of breath. No noise this time, no jumping, no explications of suddenness or surprise. Martin Blackwood takes well to both shock and silence with a delightful sufferance, and Peter is indulgently proud.

The lad is, as expected, by the Archivist’s bedside. Crone-backed, ringed with an satisfying corona of misery.  It’s after visiting hours, but Martin likely hasn’t even realised that the gaze of the ward staff and orderlies has simply grazed past him when he came up, when he took his traditional post, when they do their rounds. Martin has not wanted to be noticed, so he won’t be.

Peter idly watches the machinery and tubes threaded though the Archivist like mechanical embroidery. This one seems eminently more worse for wear than Gertrude ever was. Stronger, though. Peter watches Elias’ chosen as he lies still and sedate for all he stalks the landscape of dreamers, and wonders if he might see the Eye’s favoured come to fruition in a way Gertrude never did.

All the more reason to talk to Martin, it appears.

“What do you want?” Martin says. Dulled, thick-throated. He’s wiping his face free from damp with his baggy jacket sleeves, glowering at Peter with a delayed annoyance, as if he’s interrupted some no doubt tender petition for waking. The antiseptic stench of the hospital worsens the tension in his bones.

He is perfect for their God. Peter’s so pleased the Archivist wasn’t so careless to have lost this assistant like he nearly lost both of the others. Elias told him that the Corruption had already sought to burrow into the debris of this lost soul, that Martin has taken the mantle of archivist well, while Beholding’s chosen was indisposed. And it is true that Martin’s gaze is more assessing than he would like. But Peter knows that Forsaken has long laced Martin’s lining with mist and dew-damp cold, filled his stomach with fog far longer than those petty chancers have tried to have him in their maw. That his God’s touch has been settling like thronging, subdued snow in place of Martin’s sealskin.

“I wanted to see if you’d thought about my offer,” Peter replies genially. Pushing his hands in his pockets, ignoring Martin’s radiating desire to be left alone.

Martin has. Peter doesn’t need Elias’ pretty little parlour tricks to know that Martin has likely thought about little else.

“I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Oh right!” Peter says after a moment’s pause. It visibly annoys Martin that it didn’t come to mind faster. “That spot of bother with the Flesh. All sorted now, I’m sure!”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?”

Peter crinkles his face in a deliberate confusion. Casting out his line.

“Why, what should I have done?”

Martin takes the bait with ease.

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” His voice pitches with accusation. His hands ball into fists, and he moves to standing, the chair complaining as it’s pushed back. “It’s your responsibility! You’re in charge now Elias is gone.”

“Thanks to you,” Peter replies smoothly. “And your companions seemed to do a good enough job. A few bruises here and there, a few near misses. Nothing they won’t heal from.”

Peter slides closer. Just a step. It makes his skin sing discordant at the proximity, but Martin stiffens, an anxious intake of air despite himself, and Peter knows he’s paying attention.

“I could ask you the same question,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Peter doesn’t sound judgemental. He doesn’t have to, Martin will paint on layers of meaning without overdoing this particular nuance of his game. “It was very impressive, watching you all. They all held their own very well. Except you. You could argue I suppose, that it’s not the same. That you’re not like the mer or the firebird or the sphinx, no added little genetic extras, and you don’t get any boost from any old helpful Power like that police officer, or the angry one touched by the Slaughter. You’re just Martin. And that’s… that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just Martin. Nothing to offer in the fight, no way to protect them. Holding them back. They could have been hurt, and you wouldn’t have been able to do, well, anything at all.”

“I…” Martin says, and Peter takes another step.

“The Extinction is a pressing threat. There isn’t time for me to wait while you finish your grave-side widow routine. I need you to help me, and it would be only fair, in return, for me to help you.”

“Oh, what, you can fix me then?” Martin snaps.

“Not at all,” Peter says. Smiling, because he is so funny, with his rage sputtering in a fog that seeks to tamp it flameless, stumbling headlong and blinded into the conversational pitfalls Peter’s dug behind him. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re broken, Martin. I speak from experience when I say you’ll never grow your skin back.”

Martin freezes. He looks Peter up and down like he’s expecting to see something different, the scales fallen from his eyes, but this is the only skin Peter has worn for so long now, and he endures the slightly prickling gaze of Martin’s Eye-touched observation.

“You… You were – ?”

“A long time ago. Before the Lonely granted me a better shroud to cloak myself in. It is not a selfish God, Martin. It offers gifts, or payment, if you prefer that way of understanding it, to those who work in aid of its ends. Benefits that could protect your friends, should something as unfortunate as the Flesh’s assault occur again.”

“And what about Jon?”

“He’ll wake up. Or he won’t.” Peter replies cheerily. “Either way, you can’t do anything for any of them like this.”

Martin gives him a scowl. Peter lets it pass over him. He knows, before Martin even opens his mouth, that he’s won.

Sasha avoids the sea.

She does not know why. Its pull is no lesser through her absence. She has dreams of sinking and never coming up for air, and she does not know if it is serenity in the ceaseless drop or despairing surrender. She marks the high days and festivals of her people alone and unremarked upon, speaks to her landward kin infrequently and vaguely. She needs to be here, she tells herself harshly. She can’t go off when there’s so much to do, when she’s in the process of losing so much. One of her family cold and vanishing, one breathing through a machine, and one… he died, died properly, and although he came back purged of something poisonous, the shrapnel scarring of collapsed masonry on his skin and the reddest, warmest wings sprung from his back, this does not settle her terrors.

She cannot leave. Not when she could lose sight of her splintering shoal so easily. Not when she’s unsure the temptation to dive down and out, deeper, further away, wouldn’t ensnare her to cowardice.

She finds the first scales in the shower. It’s a myth that any water will have the skin of her legs go slick, then bumpy, fusing into one muscled tail with her scales folding outwards. She can have showers and baths without impact. It’s the sea, that is the essential component. The same for most deepwater kin. Not the sea, maybe, or exactly, but what it represents in the change. It’s something about floating out into endless space clad only in human skin and human lungs and trusting not to drown. The letting go of one form with the tide and permitting the waves to bring forth another.

Her scales are dimmed, like they’ve smudged. Their colour diminished.

It’s not a molt. Her people don’t. Tim does, normally annually. Before they travelled to Yarmouth, he’d been dropping feathers around the office almost continually with stress. Nesting, and growing in new and painful sections of wing, snapping with a yo-yoing temper.

Tim notices. Maybe because he’s the only one left. Basira is holed up somewhere of course, as is Melanie, but it’s not the same. They weren’t here before, they don’t have the context for how much their group is diminished, falling to pieces slowly like her own skin is.

They’ll be visiting Jon later. She hasn’t seen Martin in weeks.

Tim approaches slowly. Looks at the flakes of blue in her hand. Understand flowers gently in his eyes, and he reaches out and touches her arm, and she forgot the world could manifest in ways other than hurtful.

“You OK there, Sash?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t… I just…  When did it all go so wrong?”

“I dunno,” Tim repeats, and he doesn’t move away and she doesn’t want him to. “God, I – I don’t know, Sash.”

Jon’s clothes are dirt-clotted, ripped up by the grind of rock, and holding him tarnishes Tim’s feathers grey, smudges the pattern on his t-shirt into obscurity. His teeth are chattering, goosebumps bobbling up his arms and making the dark hairs up his arms stand on end. Tim suspects it’s more shock than cold.

Sasha brought him a glass of water, holding her palm under it because Jon’s long-fingered grip is so shaky it’s sloshing the water up the sides.

“Told you the rib was a shit idea, huh?” Tim says. Played as a joke and deliberately shorn of any accusation. He breathes in-and-out and Jon follows the rise and fall, and it benefits both of them. Tim’s getting better at control. He’s had to. His anger grows in like pinfeathers but so does his grief these days, a full plumage of emotions he is learning to deal with.

Jon coughs up something that could be agreement, but is mostly dirt and grave soil over Tim’s shirt.

You should have waited for us, Tim thinks but does not say because there would be too much teeth in it, and Jon’s skin is already whittling down to skeletal. We asked you not to go, we wanted a better plan, why didn’t you wait.

You could have died, down there in the dark, and we wouldn’t have even had a body to mourn, he does not say.

We love you, you idiot. We love you and even that wasn’t enough to stop you leaving, he does not say.

We’re already losing Martin, he does not say.

A room full of looping, chattering, overlapping tape recorders. Neither Tim nor Sasha stacked them, and Jon would not have thought to.

It should be a reassurance, that Martin’s been here.

God, Tim hopes he knows what he’s doing.

Sasha rubs at Jon’s back, helps him sip another small trickle. Tim’s wings, voluminous and unwieldy, knock over recorders in a clattering collapse as he scoops them around to shield them both. Against the balmy heat Tim’s throwing out, Jon’s shivers gradually subside.

“Daisy?” Jon murmurs. His teeth are grimy with soil.

“She’s with Basira,” Tim replies.

Sasha’s picked up the rib that’s dropped out of Jon’s clenched palm. Wiping the grime off it and staring at it without clear expression.

“Why, Jon?” she asks.

“I wanted to help,” Jon says. His words small, like he’s embarrassed that he even thought of it. “Even if it was one person. I wanted to be able to do something good for a change.”

“You could have died,” Tim says.

Jon’s horrible flat chuckle scrapes over his lips.

“I’m not sure I can anymore.”

“Yeah…” Tim replies subdued. He glances at the red daggers of his feathers and thinks he understands that.

“I wonder what it would take,” Jon says idly, slurring with exhaustion, and Tim grips him closer and hopes he never finds out.

Martin doesn’t react when Sasha sits down near him. The breeze, a vicious snagging chill tussles his hair, some wisps twisting into nothingness like smoke from an extinguished candle. She is still getting used to this Martin, or perhaps the Martin he never let others see. The toned-down stillness of him, the undisturbed waters of his expression. His skin not quite solid, the patches that have returned pale, sickly-pallored in the softening dim of moonlight. The rest of him is a coalition of fog, a hazy motion to his image like he’s wave-rocked, smoked out.

Long minutes pass. Sasha sits down cross-legged. The waves ripple up the stones that make up the strip of beach surrounding the loch, and they’re hard and uncomfortable under her.

“I can’t swim, you know,” Martin says finally. The sea is louder than he is, and he can make himself so quiet these days.

“No?”

Sasha keeps her tone light, inquisitive without intensity. Martin shakes his head, and his image lags, skipping disjointed, like his connection is poor.

More silence. Sasha doesn’t know what she should say, where Martin’s thoughts are at. She scratches behind the base of her gills, rubs at the dorsal fins sitting mostly flat under her sleep shirt.

“I didn’t live too far from the sea,” Martin continues. Looking at the wavering mirage of his hands without comment. She doesn’t even know if he recognises her presence. “We had Liverpool about an hour away. Even Blackpool, I guess. My primary school had a swimming club, where they’d pack them off to the big leisure centre on a coach afterschool. Kids’d get these little medals for managing like five metres, or ten, fifteen. But there was a small fee, and Mum said…” He snorts out a dismissive breath and his face twists, and neither of these actions suit him. “Doesn’t matter. I never went, and I never learnt, and that was that.”

“You could always come swimming with me?” Sasha proposes slowly. Lost in the swell of this conversation, why Martin’s talking about the sea, what this has to do with anything. She wishes he’d look at her.

Martin doesn’t answer immediately. He might not have even heard her.

“I told Peter, and he said that made it even better. That it was a such a – ” he says the word with a sneer, the words sharp-toothed in his mouth “ – gift, that I’d never even had the opportunity to know what I would miss, not even a memory to embellish or to sour. That there was so much that could root in absence. He said I should be grateful.”

“Peter Lukas said a lot of shit,” Sasha says.

She shuffles closer to him. Puts her hand on his knee.

“Whatever he told you was bollocks, you know that right?”

Martin blinks. After a moment, his hand joins over hers. His image grows denser, less likely to be stolen by the midnight air.

His eyes, fixed out on a horizon point in the slick dark of the loch, are still distant.

“I just wish I understood why she did it,” Martin murmurs.

“Who?”

“I did some research. After Elias… after I found out. I couldn’t have been the only person, and it’s rare enough but there are – help groups… you know, therapists that specialise in that kind of stuff. But I didn’t… I couldn’t face going to one. I thought that… knowing what was so wrong with me would make it easier, but it didn’t. All my life, I…. I was stupid enough to think it might be something I could fix. If – if I changed myself enough, if I said the right things, loved the right people, then I might… that someone could fix me. But it can't be fixed. That’s what all the leaflets said. That it was best to think of it like a permanent injury. Like having a stroke, or some sort of brain damage or something like that. Something irreparable.”

“Martin, sweetheart…” Sasha starts. She doesn’t understand. The flotsam of Martin’s speech grows erratic and he’s started shivering, and it’s no wonder, dressed in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers and some thick socks.

“Do you know much about selkies, Sash?” Martin powers on. Chattering teeth and goosebumps and it’s like he’s drawing something out of himself, some infection long done its damage. “Not many of them left, and they don’t usually venture landward like some of the other deepwater species. They mate for life apparently. Staunchly social communities, and some of them can’t… can’t cope, if they lose their group, or their partner. They take off their pelt, and just swim off to drown. A-and those help groups and therapists, those people who had theirs stolen, or destroyed… they’re, god, they’re all terminal. They last six months, maximum. Because it kills them, losing it. They waste away and they die. And here’s me…” Martin’s face twists again, and it’s bitter and angry and despairing all at once, “and I just get to keep going.”

“Selkies…?” Sasha says. “Why are you….”

She trails off in a gradually dawning horror.

“Martin?”

“She burnt it,” Martin says, his tone stringing higher now, distress sweeping in like a squall to break up the unnatural apathy in his voice. “I don’t think she knew what it would… I mean, I don’t know, maybe she did, maybe she wanted me gone just like dad, I don’t know, and I’ll never know because I can’t ask her why. I didn’t even… it was so long ago. I was sick and then I got worse and it was awful and I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why everything hurt just so much… and after, when I was better, Mum said it was appendicitis. I believed her. Course I did, why wouldn’t I. I didn’t know… not until Elias, and I’ll never know what I’ve lost, or why it didn’t kill me, maybe it was because I was so young, or because it’s only from one side of the family, I don’t –  I don’t know! I’ll never know! It’s a whole part of me that she just… she just took a-a-and…”

Martin’s back bows like whalebone. He takes long shuddering breaths like his words are keelhauling across his lungs.

Sasha’s never heard of a selkie with only half their soul. She can’t imagine, what it would do to someone.

She moves in front of Martin and he moves forward against her like a wave crash. He’s taller and heavier than her, and the impact pushes her back momentarily before her arms catch him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” she says, “You can do it, breathe.” She holds him so surely, and she always will. And he starts crying then, the first time since Jon was in hospital, and he won’t or can’t stop shivering, and it is horrible to hear every emotion inside him claw itself back from the brink.

She keeps telling him to breathe, and he keeps following that instruction through sniffling and sobbing and broken-voiced confusion,  and she counts it as a small victory nonetheless.

Jon’s mouth cannot scream.

Tim’s in the next room, the kitchen, drying plates and bowls and cutlery, within shouting distance, and he’d be here in a moment – he’d help if only Jon could speak a word other than his unbidden, unwanted recitation.

Jon’s mouth doles out its terrible missive, and he doesn’t not feel like a person as Elias rolls out the triumphant red carpet of his plotting and scheming, the self-satisfied weave of his grand finale. And no, he’s not a person, not for a long time now;  he’s a catalogue, a testimony, an archive, and he would never have chosen this.

His hands scrabble at his throat, and his eyes are blurred with tears, his vision obscured, but it does not seem to matter, for his skin ripples and sloshes like an inkwell and a hundred eyes swell and pop and inflate again like bubbles against his skin.

Someone else screams. And the multitude of Jon’s eyes are newborn, fractal-imaged, gummed up with a feast of far-reaching horror all witnessed by him, overseen and devoured in his sight, and it is hard to translate what his original set of open, weeping eyes see. There is motion. Commotion. There are apologies being spoken in his ears, fervent, petitionary, but he is hearing the rising insistent thrum of the summoning and it is as sickening as it is beautiful. Someone is holding a hand hard over his mouth, the grip painful and punishing but even then the words burble out through the cracks. Another hand clamps over his eyes, and he shrieks and thrashes as his words gather to a crescendo.

A hand tears the paper from his grip. There is an acrid whoosh of smoke. Jon drops like the rigging of a ship being torn down. The hands at his mouth and eyes lower quickly to loop around his waist, catch him and hold him up.

Jon sees Tim, wide-eyed and shimmering with terror even as his skin burns gold and his feathers shine and there are only sooty flakes left of Jonah’s statement, scattering down from his palms.

He thinks it’s Martin behind him. Jon folds further, all his weight pitching forward and Martin’s forced to come down with him as he retches the leftover words in his mouth; king of a ruined world, he vomits up with bile and ink, and it splashes with a disgusting slop over the living room floor.

Sasha’s partially webbed hands are holding back his hair as he hacks and gags, his lips stained black, his stomach heaving as he chokes on everything that comes up, his stomach roiling with an overwhelming nausea.  Conduit of fear, he brings up, dribbling from his lips like paper pulp.

After a long while, it���s over. Sasha carries him to the bathroom, and helps him clean up, although Jon has little memory of it.

He wakes, feeling like a shipwreck, and Tim is there. Sat nearby, his head in his hands. His fingertips stained with ink and soot. He can hear Martin and Sasha talking in low tones nearby.

They're still here. Even now, he’s surprised that they haven’t left him.

And Jon has no words remaining, so his body betrays him with airless, silent tears, at all he could have wrought upon this world, at all the suffering he could have brought to their door to still be granted forgiveness for.

It is not the end. It is an interlude, a reprieve. In some ways a kindness, and in others, waiting is its own cruelty.

They’ve bought blankets to the beach in order to cushion the hardness of the stones rounded by tide and time. It’s the first time they’ve gotten Jon to come outside for more than a few minutes.  The scratches up the column of his throat healing. His voice still damaged, scratchy and scraped from misuse.

They’ll have to be moving on soon. To make plans for whatever future they need to avoid.

She sits up, and stretches out from where she’s been lying against Tim’s thigh. Glances at Jon, barely four metres away on a separate towel. Grey-haired and tired-eyed. Martin’s holding his hand, the left one crinkled by burns, as they talk about something treasured for its meaningless. Despite everything, Jon’s face practises relearning its smiles, even as he touches tentative at the marks around his neck, the bruising at the edges of his mouth.

The tension has not faded from Tim’s shoulders. His plumage sharp and strange even now. Her own scales patchy and bare, whole sections that have not grown back.

She considers her battered but striving shoal, and wants to show them that their past is not all there will ever be. That there will be an after-this, whatever that looks like. She wishes they spoke her tongue, so she could gift them names, new names, for the things they have become, this things that they have survived, and all that has survived them.

“Martin!” she shouts over, a sudden inspiration seizing her. “Want to come in the water with me?”

Martin’s expression barrels through at least three iterations before it hovers between wary and uncomfortable.

“I – er… I might just be better off here, actually.”

“No pressure,” she tells him, and she means it, for all she remembers that he has never had the chance to know the sea as she has, to feel his whole weight held up by the water. “But I am a pretty spectacular swimming teacher. I promise I won’t let go.”

Martin, to his credit, thinks about it. Gnaws on his lip, stares away from her and at his knees. Next to her, she can feel Tim bite back an enthusiastic declaration of encouragement for fear of spooking him.

Martin stands gingerly, and she is so proud of him.

“I haven’t got a costume,” he says.

“Your boxers will be fine.”

“We want something pretty to look at, show us those legs, Martin!” Tim says. He times the tone playful, the perfect balance of joking and complementing, and it works, with Martin’s blushing and ‘shut it Tim’ distracting him from the enormity of his decision as he neatly folds up his jeans, and takes off his shoes and socks. Sasha peels off her long skirt, rolls down her tights. She dislikes shoes on principle, and rarely wears them.

The rocks dig into the soles of Martin’s feet as they waddle down to the shore, slow going and interspersed with wincing.

She takes his hand as they stop, stand a foot from the border between land and sea.

“We’ll just go a little way out,” she promises. “The water’s fairly calm but for your first time…”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Martin whispers. He hesitates, and she waits for his decision.  And then, he creeps forward, and she follows. He swears vehement as the water hits his toes, and he almost balks to feel the frigid temperature, but he pushes forward, his swearing getting more and more creative the further he walks out against the tide.

From the headland, someone cheers, likely Tim.

“Don’t look at them,” Sasha says. “Come on, this is all you, ok?”

Her legs unfuse into her tail, and she shivers out a feeling like cramp, luxuriating in the sensation against her skin.

Martin tentatively wades out. He’s tall, but there’s a point where he stops, knowing to move forward means his feet won’t touch the ground.

“A little further, yeah?” Sasha encourages, and he nods jerkily, a frantic up-and-down, his expression petrified. “You can do this. Don’t look at the water. Look at me.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she pulls him slowly into deeper waters. His fingers are pressing rounded marks into her forearms. His leg gestures are sloppy, thrashing, and at one point he dips below the surface with the disturbance he’s making, and he splutters as he resurfaces, surging up, eyes bulging in a betrayed panic. She continues to reassure him and doesn’t let go as they stop and simply float, the shoreline easily in sight.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“Wet,” he grumbles. Clearly concentrating, he treads, kicking out in a motion that gradually finds rhythm.

For a long while, it is them and the sea. The waves rub up against the bare patches in her scales, but the reminder is not painful.

Martin’s breathing calms. His terror recedes, and he looks down at the obscured water under them.

“Can we go out a bit further?”

She’s not doing as much pulling now. She shows him how to use his arms to push himself through water, and stopping and starting, correcting his gestures and posture and breathing as they go, they drift further out before stopping again, hanging suspended above the depths.

Martin smiles at his own unexpected success. He lets out a long, satisfied sound like something’s loosened in him for the first time.

His eyes, completely black, reflect the dour and overcast midday sun.

“Martin, your eyes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Martin says, but no – he doesn’t say, he barks, and then gasps, and then barks again, stunned, unsettled. He doesn’t look upset. He’s bitten his lip with his too-sharp teeth that now line his gums, and he touches the sharp pain it has caused with incredulity, his still human fingers marking out the sensation of the new.

“What’s happening?” he asks and Sasha grins, and says “I don’t know, Martin, I don’t know” and he’s splashing, a seal without skin, something entirely himself, shivering minutely in the cold shock even as his smile shows off his pointed teeth. He barks again, the sound almost jolted out of him as he figures out how it works, and she trills in delight, and it sets him off grinning and kicking. And for the moment, for this moment, the Lonely is banished entirely landbound, and there is only them treading water, surrounded by the endless sea and trusting they will not drown.

They have to go back to land eventually. The waves around them start to wash choppy, the sky colours grey with the surety of rain. They swim back, and sometimes Sasha lets go, bobbing near his elbow as he swims slowly but steadily on his own.

Martin’s teeth flatten when they crawl onto the shore, panting and burbling out the dregs of their laughter. Tim and Jon have come over to greet them, Jon holding the towels and garments like an overladen clothes tree. Tim chucks Sasha a towel to fold around herself into a makeshift skirt before her tail bisects back into legs.

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Sasha says excitedly, waving her hands and gesticulating.  “Did you see, did you see?”

“See what…?” Tim starts, but he glances at Martin, whose eyes are slow to fade from black to blue, and Tim might not realise what exactly has happened, but he senses the tenor of the mood because he’s barrelling in, knocking into Martin, wrapping him in a hug and nearly smothering him with his wings. Once released, Jon approaches slowly, putting his burdens down. Martin glances up at him, almost anxious now that the initial buzz is wearing down, but Jon goes softly to his knees, and his smile spreads across his face like paint in water.

The grey of the sky feels far off as they allow themselves the momentarily uncomplicated gift of being happy.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw emotional manipulation #cw ableism #cw potential suicidal ideation #cw emetophobia #cw being sick #ask to tag #jonmartin #sasha james #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

[deniigi]

will we be getting anyting spooky for this year? "ain't afraid of no ghost!" fed my halloween loving soul.

hi!!

I’m a little burnt out with writing right now, BUT I do have a piece from the Selkie Verse that’s a little bit ghostly/scary. I can’t remember if I posted it here already or not, but I’ll give it to you (again?)

It’s like 8k so be prepared!

Title: ember ghosts

Summary: Flash forces Peter, Ned, and MJ to go ghost hunting in a local cemetery. Peter decides to add a little pizzazz to this trip in the form of Resident Dead Hero Jack Murdock to get back at Flash. Things, as they are wont, go terribly wrong.

--------------

Matt’s new coat was white and incredibly heavy; Peter learned that last part upon dragging MJ and Ned over to catch Matt in the act of grooming it.

He barked at them and the volume of the sound locked Peter into place for a minute before he came back to himself and hustled in to go flop down next to Matt and ask him if he needed help first, and then secondly, if his dad was busy.

Matt felt for his chin and then jerked his face close.

“What business do you have with him?” he asked.

Stories about baby seals, obviously.

Matt tossed him away.

“You’re not borrowing my father’s spirit to scare Flash,” he said.

MJ and Ned came over to join the pleading session.

“But Mr. Murdock’s the biggest ghost ever,” Peter lamented.

“He’s a normal sized spirit, not a ghost,” Matt sniffed at him as he gathered up his fur rug from the floor and started picking through it in his lap.

The gesture he used was mesmerizing. He dragged the fur back the wrong way until he found something he didn’t like, then used the last three fingers on his hand to scrape at it until it was vanquished. He pulled his whole hand over the place again and carried on down the stripe he was making until he found another knot or bit of dirt or something to scratch at.

“Can I try?” Ned asked.

Matt’s face jerked his way and he dragged even more of the coat into his lap.

“No touching,” he said.

“I thought Foggy’s coat was the white one?” MJ asked.

Matt gathered his coat even further in offense.

“It will shed,” he said. “It is a new coat.”

“It’s baby fur,” Peter told the others. “Foggy said—”

He got a face full of baby fur and could now confirm that it was soft and fluffy and amazing. He could sleep in this.

“It’s a new coat,” Matt emphasized. “Annoying me will not unlock access to my old man.”

Boo on you, sealman.

“I’m gonna ask your mom then,” Peter declared.

He got yanked down before he was even all the way up.

Matt held his chin again.

“He’s a spirit,” he said. “And a hero. Say it with me.”

“He’s a spirit and a hero,” Peter repeated.

Matt shoved him away.

“If you ask him very nicely, he might be interested in having some time away from the church. But not too long. He can’t be away from Mum for too long, you hear?”

That was permission.

“We hear,” Peter promised. “Should we bring Sister Maggie an offering?”

Matt huffed and stood up. He left his pile of coat behind him and the urge to pet it behind his back was insurmountable. Peter met Ned and MJ’s eyes and bounced his brows. MJ shook her head.

Matt returned from the table and held something out towards the coat. MJ leaned forward and plucked it out of his hand.

“A comb?” she asked.

“Tell her its teeth are too wide,” Matt said. “Go get a bouquet of flowers—no roses, Peter. Go for hyssop if you can find it.”

Copy that.

“Be gone with you.”

“You’re my favorite teammate,” Peter said.

“I said begone,” Matt sniffed.

---

--

-

 “You think he should have just kept it anyways?” MJ asked on the way to May’s friend Tonya’s place.

Ned took the comb from her and held it up to the sun.

“What do you think it’s made out of?” he asked.

Knowing the selkies? Probably teeth.

The other two stared at Peter.

He shrugged.

“Johnny says selkies are obsessed with guarding their teeth,” he said. “So maybe it’s whale bone or something.”

Ned huffed.

“Maybe it’s turtle shell,” he said.

Maybe.

“Why not roses?” MJ asked Peter.

Oh, well that was easy enough.

“There’s not really a kind of rose that isn’t a curse for Mr. Murdock,” he said. “It’s all friendship this, scorned lover that. And from the sounds of it, he doesn’t like them. Hyssop is a sacrifice flower, so you know. It’s an offering for both him and Sister Maggie.”

MJ tapped at her lip.

“Do you think we should cover our basis with a can of sardines, too?” she asked.

Well, it couldn’t hurt.

 ---

--

-

 Tonya, upon learning that the flowers Peter was seeking were to be given to a ‘selkie and her young man’ (in her words) went a little overboard.

She stuffed the hyssop in as an afterthought among a tryptic of sunflowers in a bed of bursting blue cornflowers. She mused on a pink rose or two to top the whole thing off, until Peter informed her that the son of the recipients had warned against it.

She said hollyhock would have to do, and then she gave Peter a basket of herbs for drying back home. She said to leave them outside when he went in to talk to the selkie.

Tonya’s apprentice said nothing the whole time and stared at Peter like he was scum while she snipped the low leaves off the stems of black-eyed susans. Peter resolutely didn’t look at her or her fancy, pale-eyed familiar.

She was a poser, anyways.

“Tell me how it goes,” Tonya hummed, draping herself across the desk and humming. “I wish I could bag a selkie. Imagine it, Missy. Strong handsome man comes up from the banks and—”

“The banks of the Hudson, Ms. Rice?” Missy said scathingly.

Tonya considered this then shrugged.

“He’s shower first,” she said.

Peter and the others said bye.

 ---

--

-

 Sister Maggie was suspicious of the flowers. But to be fair, she was suspicious of pretty much everything. She accepted the comb back much more comfortably.

“You want Jackie?” she asked once that was done.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said.

“What for?”

A reckoning.

“One of our classmates is a jerk,” MJ said. “He’s forcing everyone in our club to go ghost-hunting with him even though no one wants to. So we thought we’d give him a run for his money, but we didn’t want to like, disturb anyone or raise the dead or whatever.”

Sister Maggie’s eyebrow arched and Peter swore that she was going to start in for a lecture. He braced himself.

It did not come.

“That’s considerate of you,” she said instead. “How long do you need him for?”

“Like, just a few hours? Fourish?” MJ said.

“Let me ask him,” Sister Maggie said. “I think he’ll be interested, he’s been rolling balls back to the wains all day. It’s only fun for the first five times.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock was a good four inches taller than Matt and around forty or fifty pounds heavier. He looked like he could carry all the babies at St. Agnes’s all at the same time if he wanted to. But, having seen the guy in action (i.e. hopelessly lost in the tunnels of the great seanchaidh), Peter now knew that he was kind of a St. Bernard burdened with a troublesome wife and son.

“Have fun,” Sister Maggie said.

Mr. Murdock huffed at her and said that he ‘shan’t’ and it made her laugh as she closed the door behind them all.

“I’m not a ghost,” he told Peter, ignoring the other two’s shock and awe.

“A spirit,” Peter said. “Yeah, I know. But Flash is a dick and you don’t like bullies, right?”

Mr. Murdock’s jaw worked.

“What kind of bully, now?” he asked.

“He calls us names and talks shit behind our backs and runs into me on purpose in the hall during passing period,” Peter said.

“Easy fix for that,” Matt’s dad said with a hand wave.

“Mr. Murdock, I can’t fight him. I’ll break him in half,” Peter said. “Fighting is only for spiders.”

Mr. Murdock did not understand. That was okay, he and Matt only understood the language of hitting people. It was genetic.

“If you can just like, do the glowy thing right behind him tonight when we go to this crypt, that would be super helpful,” Peter said.

“You glow?” Ned asked Mr. Murdock.

Mr. Murdock was not convinced.

“How will me standing over a guy get him to stop bullying you?” he asked.

That…was maybe a fair point.

“It’ll scare him,” Ned said. “And it’ll be all his fault and everyone will blame him and he’ll feel stupid for having made everyone go along with his dumb idea.”

Mr. Murdock considered him and then looked back to Peter.

“Just go with it,” Peter said. “It’s a teenager thing. It’s how we keep each other humble.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock didn’t want to wait with them until nightfall. He wanted to be with Matt. That was his second favorite place to be, apparently, after hanging around Sister Maggie, but Peter got the feeling that Matt would talk Mr. Murdock out of some good, honest revenge and into some Catholic guilt if they were stuck together. So he gave him the next best thing.

Foggy was basically a vengeful spirit.

He laughed really hard at the idea of Mr. Murdock going around scaring kids in a cemetery.

“No, no,” he said. “Here, you must—Jack, can you hold things?”

Peter snapped his head back to Mr. Murdock.

“Some,” Mr. Murdock said.

“How much can you lift?” Foggy asked.

Mr. Murdock squinted at him.

“I don’t like the question,” he said.

Foggy abandoned them all to go dig through one of his kitchen drawers. He came back with tiny bottle and held it out to Peter.

“Mix it with some lamp oil,” he said.

Peter took the bottle.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ask not what you don’t want the answer to,” Foggy said. “Just mixy-mix, boyo. Here, I’ve even got a lantern around here somewhere. Jack, we need to dress you for the part.”

Peter paused and turned to look up at Mr. Murdock’s dark eyes and thick hair.

Dress? Him?

You could dress a spirit?

“Why not?” Foggy said. “You, my dear sir, need a coat and a flatcap.”

Mr. Murdock’s whole expression dropped.

“I’m not playing some ghostly lighthouse man in the middle of New York City,” he said.

“You are,” Foggy said seriously. “For your people, Jack. Think about your people. And fix that accent, I know you’ve got a brogue in you.”

 Peter took Mr. Murdock home with him when he and the others split off to reconvene at the cemetery at 8 o’clock. Mr. Murdock rode the train like a champ. It was cramped from the rush hour traffic and Peter entertained himself by watching Mr. Murdock lay his hands tenderly on top of those belonging to douchebags who were plenty tall enough to hold onto the upper bar but who couldn’t be assed to look away from their phones to realize this.

One guy yelped at Mr. Murdock’s touch on his knuckles and ripped his hand off, only to see nothing there. Everyone around him stared at him.

He coughed and reached up for the overhead rail.

Mr. Murdock abandoned him to squeeze through the carriage to the back. He found a pregnant woman standing beside a group of teenagers all listening to music. Peter watched as he inspected the lady’s phone in her hand and then her face. He tapped on the top of the phone so it fell right out of her loose grip, and the woman jumped. The kids all startled at the sound of the phone hitting the ground and two jumped up to pick it up for her. One offered her his seat.

She thanked them and carefully, carefully sat down.

Mr. Murdock watched this with no expression.

Peter swallowed a giggle.

Jonathan ‘Jack’ Murdock. Lighthouse Ghost Impersonator and Subway Manners Enforcer.

 ---

--

-

 “Oh, hey there, long time no see,” May said to Mr. Murdock when Peter got home. “You’re going with Pete and the others tonight?”

Mr. Murdock said nothing.

Peter recounted his poltergeist from earlier for him. May thought it was just delightful.

“I told him to take Johnny,” she said. “But you might be even better.”

“They should just fight it out,” Mr. Murdock said.

“Mm. School authorities won’t go for it,” May said. “So I’m afraid we must stoop to witchcraft.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock didn’t know the full glory of Youtube, so Peter spent the next few hours snacking and showing him clips of old vines. Then, when it was time to go, he turned to google how to use an oil lamp. Mr. Murdock watched him struggle for a good five minutes before reaching over him and showing him how.

“Did you and Matt not have electricity in Ireland?” Peter asked him.

Mr. Murdock huffed.

“No, I just uh. I guess I had an interest in maritime shit since I was a kid.”

Ohhh.

“Is that how you met Sister Maggie?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock’s lip quirked up a little.

“No,” he said. “But we got there anyways, didn’t we?”

 ---

--

-

 “Do you not like roses?” Peter asked him on the way to the train station.

“They all smell like soap,” Mr. Murdock said as he followed Peter down the steps to the station. He was wearing the hat that Foggy had impressed on him. It was a strange thing; Foggy had marked it with a piece of chalk under the brim before handing it over and it seemed to have made it ghost-apparel. He didn’t have a big scary coat, but he did have a scarf and between that and the hat and the lantern, Mr. Murdock was plenty old-timey lighthouse man.

“Not all of them,” Peter said. “Some smell like lemon.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Mr. Murdock said over the heads of folks by the train. “S’all soap.”

 ---

--

-

 “Did you every hunt for ghosts when you were a kid?” Peter asked when they were approaching the gates of the meeting place. May had given him a bag full of offerings to place on graves when people he was with weren’t looking. Some mandarin oranges and little bouquets of lavender and zinnias with sprigs of baby’s breath. They were pretty. Peter had something like twenty in among the fruit.

“No, the dead never bothered me half as much as the living,” Mr. Murdock said.

That sounded kind of angsty.

“How did you become a hero?” Peter asked.

“Kind of a long, boring story,” Mr. Murdock said. “The short of it, I guess, is that I did a lot of shit for the fae and they appreciated it.”

“Johnny’s starstruck of you,” Peter pointed out. “He thinks you’re like, super cool. He told me you smell really good.”

Mr. Murdock glanced down at him.

“It’s a sign of status for the fae to be attached to a hero,” he said.

Oh???

“Am I a hero? Does Johnny get a boost from being with me?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock shrugged.

“You’re both pretty young to be able to know or tell,” he said. “And you’re a witch. So unless you’re a hero-witch, I got nothin’ for you.”

Ah, well. It was worth a shot.

“There’s Ned, that’s our cue. Here, you can take the lantern. I’ll point Flash out to you,” Peter said.

Mr. Murdock took the lantern Peter held out to him without complaint while Peter fumbled through his pockets for a lighter.

He held it out.

“Do you want me to light it or are you okay?” he asked.

“You light it,” Mr. Murdock said. “This is heavy for me in this shape.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock took the lantern and left Peter to go meet MJ and Ned. The light had vanished by the time Peter looked back.

“I think Mr. Murdock’s a little sad,” he told the others.

“Ghost separation anxiety?” MJ offered.

“Maybe it’s harder for him to be with people who aren’t his family. Maybe he’s tired,” Ned said.

Yeah, maybe.

“Or maybe he’s a softie who doesn’t like scaring people,” MJ said. “But that means that Matt got his nonsense gene from the nun side.”

It wasn’t implausible.

“Hey, are you guys coming?” Abe tossed back at them. He was prepared with two flashlights and a backpack with a bulky mobile charger in his pocket. He’d said that he wasn’t falling for ‘any ghost shit’ that night and no one was making any ‘dumbass mistakes’ on his watch.

Peter thought that Abe might try to punch Mr. Murdock in the gut. He and MJ agreed to separate him from Flash as soon as possible.

 ---

--

-

 Flash insisted on leading the charge—of course he did. Peter hung back a ways so that he could set offerings on graves. Ned told kept reminding him that he didn’t have to do it for every single one, and obviously Peter knew that. But some of the graves deserved stones on them and a quick prayer. That was just being polite.

Flash caught him at it and asked him if he was scared. Peter told him to mind his own business.

“We’re here to find ghosts, not feed them,” Flash volleyed back.

Peter pointed at him in a way that he hoped was dramatic enough for Mr. Murdock to catch sight of it from wherever he was.

“If they’re eatin’ these, they aren’t eatin’ me,” he said. He offered Flash an orange. “You want one?”

Ned snickered.

“You’re not funny, Parker,” Flash sighed. His breath clouded around him. “Come on, it’s not too much further.”

 ---

--

-

 The ‘crypt’ was actually a mausoleum, as Peter had expected. It was tall and made of stone and Peter could tell immediately that it was of no one of import to the local necromancers.

Even the vultures had declared the folks in this one too boring for their rituals. It was probably a family thing. A bunch of folks who were ordinary but devout. Maybe they had a little money and chose to spend it in death.

Everyone had their own thing.

Peter had oranges and flowers, for example. He snuck around the corner to set one onto the ground by the stone.

His breath puffed out around it and misted away and Peter paused before standing up out of his stoop. He could feel a breeze on his cheeks. He looked up and around.

“Mr. Murdock?” he breathed.

Nothing.

No lantern light.

“You’re not my ghost,” Peter whispered. “I’m just leavin’ a snack, okay?”

The breeze seemed to vanish.

Cool.

“Don’t mind my spirit friend. He’s big and kinda glowy, but he’s not one of you,” Peter said.

“Peter?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “But this other idiot is gonna try to climb onto your grave. Sorry about him. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

The leaves at his feet blew up and scattered around the orange.

“No problem.” Peter said. “Bye now.”

He hurried back to the others.

 ---

--

-

 The main problem was that none of them knew how roman numerals worked and, surrounded by ghosts, looking it up on the internet was kind of challenging.

MJ and Ned gave Peter pointed looks when he came back to join them.

They knew Peter could read roman numerals. He was assigned the task of keeping his mouth shut without anyone having to tell him.

“Maybe they don’t want to be read,” Felicia said.

“Correct,” Abe agreed. “No reading. I can’t read. None of us can read. This is a blessing of ignorance, given to us by the Lord.”

Flash stared at them.

“X is ten,” he deadpanned.

“Damnit, Flash,” Abe said.

“What’s L?” Flash said. “And M?”

“Code,” Ned chimed in.

He got flat eyebrows all around.

“We live in the twenty-first century,” Flash told the stone. “Just use normal numbers like everyone else.”

The wind kicked up a bit in offense.

“Alright, well, now what?” Abe said. “Not a single ghost so far. Only a creepy stone in a creepy yard with a creepy—oh shit. Turn off the light.”

Say what now?

“Keeper,” Abe snapped over his shoulder, pointing away from them towards a floating light. “Turn ‘em off or we’ll get kicked out.”

Oh.

The lantern.

Peter joined the others in turning off their lights and hiding on the other side of the mausoleum.

“You’d have thought it would be too late for working,” Felicia whispered.

“It’s a graveyard,” MJ whispered back. “The time you need the most coverage is night.”

“Are they still there?” Abe asked.

Flash peeked out from around the stone.

“No,” he said.

Peter untensed his shoulders and stepped out.

“What if it’s not a keeper?” he asked. “What if it’s a—”

“Huh-uh. No,” Abe snapped. “We’re not asking stupid questions tonight, remember, Parker? I specifically said this not 10 minutes ago. No stupid questions.”

Abe had seen a few horror movies, it would seem.

“Alright, alright. No stupid questions,” Peter said. “It’s just—that doesn’t look like a flashlight to me.”

Ned made a show of looking around.

“It’s gone, it doesn’t look like anything to anyone,” he said.

“This is exciting,” Felicia anxiety-giggled.

“It’s not,” MJ sighed. “Well, we’re already here. Might as well keep going.”

The others all turned towards her.

“Wait, you mean, go further?” Flash asked.

MJ shrugged.

“We’re only like, part of the way in,” she said.

Peter surveyed the space beyond their current alley of monuments. The light from the two floodlights at the gated entrance was already weak. Further out, there wouldn’t be light until they hit the war memorial way, way in the back.

That was a plenty big enough stretch.

“Guys? Did it get foggy?” Felicia asked.

Peter shivered.

He had about ten oranges left and an equal number of flower packets.

Welp.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Before it rolls in thicker.”

 ---

--

-

 The grass seemed to get wetter and wetter with every yard and Peter had started to see things out of the corners of his eyes. Shadows. Little flickers of light.

He felt MJ’s fingers sink into his jacket sleeve as he watched an extra set of legs follow behind them in the jerky shadows jostled around by the flashlights.

Abe froze twice, each time to take a deep steady breath and to remind himself that he was not asking stupid questions.

Flash laughed at him, but the sound was strained and a little hysterical. Felicia had grabbed ahold of one of each of their arms up ahead. Ned touched Peter’s shoulder.

“Where is he?” he whispered.

Peter shrugged.

“He’s lantern man,” he said. “We’ll see him.”

“In the mist?”

Mmmm. Okay maybe they should have brought Johnny after all.

 ---

--

-

 They were halfway to the war memorial when the lights above it suddenly went out. MJ’s fingers dug deep into Peter’s sleeve. Ned gasped.

“Dude,” Flash’s voice said in the dark. “That’s not cool. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t you talk to it,” Abe snapped. “Don’t you dare talk to it. Just walk. Don’t ask questions. Just walk.”

Peter felt wind against his cheeks. He shivered.

Mr. Murdock wouldn’t fuck with the lights, would he? Was he that strong?

Peter thought he was supposed to be a spirit, not a ghost. And he’d seemed kind of tired earlier. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep or something, right?

There was a loud rustle to the right of their group and Peter jumped, which made MJ jump, which made Felicia yelp.

The rustle carried on. It was punctuated with a horrible, wet-sounding slap all of the sudden.

“Wh—what was that?” Flash asked.

Another slap rang out, then another. Followed by the sound of something dropping into leaves. Something…heavy.

“Nice try, slugger,” Mr. Murdock growled.

Actually growled. Like an angry tiger or something.

Peter shivered hard.

This guy hadn’t been scared at all. He’d been preparing himself.

To fight.

Fuck.  

Abort mission. Abort, abort, abort.

“We need to leave,” Peter said sharply.

“Agreed,” MJ said.

“Yep,” Ned said.

“You speak my language finally,” Abe said. “About-face and—”

“Don’t move,” Mr. Murdock said dangerously.

Peter felt his body turn to ice.

“Who’s there?” Flash asked.

“They’re mine,” Mr. Murdock rumbled. “Hands off, ya fuckin’ lowlife. Yeah, get back to your hole. Go on.”

Oh, okay.

Fun times with the undead. Peter should have brought holy water.

“Wh—who’s there?” Flash asked again in a cracking voice.

The sound of metal clanking met them and then an orange flash crackled into sight. And there was Mr. Murdock. Six foot two and missing his hat. He looked huge and solid and his shoulders glowed ever so slightly.

Flash and Felicia and Abe gasped.

“Y’all better be moving along,” Mr. Murdock said, meeting Peter’s eyes seriously.

“Are—are you a ghost?” Felicia whispered.

Mr. Murdock flicked his eyes down at her and they didn’t reflect the light from the lantern.

“Folks call me ‘Jack,’” he said, holding out the lantern. “Or they used to. Nowadays, the little ones call me ‘John.’ This is a ritual grounds tonight, kids. Bad night for a hunt for the living. Go on, I’ll see you out. Take this; your lights won’t work.”

MJ took out her flashlight and it clicked as she turned it on and then off.

“What kind of ritual?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock’s lips thinned.

“Go,” he said.

Peter’s chest expanded.

“Where are they?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock shook his head.

“Go,” he said again. “This isn’t for you, little witch.”

Peter heard the others’ shape intakes of air, but he held firm.

“You’re a spirit,” he said. “You can’t stop them.”

Mr. Murdock sighed and his shoulders fell slowly.

“I’m not just a spirit,” he said. “I’m a hero. I’ll see you out. Tell my son the name of this place. He’ll come in the morning.”

Wh—

No, wait.

“Don’t go,” Peter said.

But he was already gone. Felicia was left holding the lantern.

 ---

--

-

 They ran-slipped-fell all the way back the way they’d come. This time, Peter held his breath at the sound of too many feet hitting the wet pockets of mud around them. He heard Felicia sobbing and the lantern clanking dangerously ahead of them.

The floodlights at the entrance had gone out.

They had to carefully climb the fence and pass off the lantern one at a time until they were on the other said, panting.

Peter realized belatedly that he’d dropped the bag of grave offerings.

He dipped his head and clenched his fists.

He’d have to go back for it in the morning.

“You’re a witch,” Flash suddenly snapped at him.

“Lay off,” MJ said immediately.

“You’re a witch and you brought that—that guy with us?” Flash asked.

“It was supposed to be a joke,” Peter said.

“A joke?” Abe said. “You—Peter, witches aren’t real. Ghosts aren’t real. Who was that?”

“No, you, a witch, thought it would be funny to bring some kind of spirit with us to a graveyard?” Flash demanded.

Peter huffed.

“Hey, you were a dick about this first,” Ned said. “The ghost dude is harmless.”

“Harmless?” Flash said. “Harmless? Yeah, fuckin’ streetfighter ghost is harmless.”

“He’s not a ghost,” Abe said, “He’s an actor. Peter that’s not cool, man. That’s not cool.”

“He’s not an actor,” Felicia said quietly.

The rest of them turned to see her holding the still-burning lantern. She was staring into it.

“His hands were so cold,” she whispered.

Abe executed a full-body shiver.

“Well, now what?” he asked. “We’ve trespassed, found a ghost, and nearly got ritualed to death. What else do we need to do to learn that this was a bad idea all along?”

Peter looked up at the gate.

“Dark magic,” he said.

MJ and Ned turned towards him.

“Peter, you’re not going back in there,” Ned said.

“I took charge of the spirit,” Peter said, setting his jaw. “I’m not going back on my word to a selkie.” He jerked back. “I need my familiar,” he said. “You guys can go.”

“Your…familiar?” Abe said slowly. “Peter. Peter, you are not a witch.”

“He’s not a familiar like others are, maybe, but he’s mine,” Peter said. “And he’ll know how to help the spirit.”

Ned and MJ exchanged glances.

“Okay?” Ned said. “Well, where is he?”

 ---

--

-

 Johnny answered his phone and said he’d been 20 minutes. They were the longest 20 minutes of Peter’s life and were spent primarily being interrogated by Abe, Flash, and Felicia.

They were understandably upset by the set-up, and then understandably upset by the fact that they were, in fact, living in ignorance of a whole multi-dimensional plane.

Abe demanded to know if genies were real, and Peter could only say that they probably were.

“Just so I’m clear here,” Flash said. “You went and borrowed your local seal-person’s husband for a jump-scare for us and now we are waiting on a fire demon to help us rescue the seal-person’s undead husband from some evil witches trying to raise the dead?”

Peter chewed a few fingers.

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” he said.

“PARKER.”

“PETER. OH MY GOD.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Abe sobbed.

“I was appeasing the spirits,” Peter snapped at them. “Why do you think I brought all those oranges? Do I look like I’m vitamin C deficient?”

“You’re a witch,” Felicia said. “You’re a witch. That’s insane. How do you—”

“I’m not a witch,” Peter sighed. “I’m—I’m a—I’m almost a witch.”

“Clearly,” Abe said.

“Hey, leave him alone,” Ned jumped in. “It’s no one’s fault this happened. We all thought we were walking into a totally different situation.”

“Yeah, except Mr. Ghost Man,” Flash said. “He knew what was up. Why didn’t you listen to him? Or, I dunno, read the undead-people signs?”

“Because he’s not my family spirit,” Peter snapped at him. “And he’s not a ghost. He’s a spirit, and not like a spirit, even. He’s a—it’s hard to explain. I don’t even know what he is. He’s just different. He’s like an inbetween kind of—”

“He’s a hero.”

They all looked up to see Johnny standing there in blue with a black knitted scarf wrapped triple around his neck. His eyes flashed orange and red and gold. The ground swayed around him, light up by his internal lantern.

Everyone around Peter recoiled.

“What does that mean, Johnny?” Peter asked quietly. “I don’t understand.”

“It means that the spirits of the sea granted him another life in exchange for the protection he offered their people during his human one,” Johnny said. “You should know by now, Peter; the fae work in exchanges.”

“He already made his deal,” Peter said. “I don’t understand.”

“His deal as a human was fulfilled. His soul is safe with his selkie, only she can shepherd it. It will go to the Otherworld, where he will stay in comfort. But he’s chosen to stay here--as a hero. In this world. And as long as he is here and not in the Otherworld, his purpose is to protect humans and fae, to protect them from each other if he must, as he stands now with a foot on both sides of the line.”

Peter felt his breath coming slowly again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because,” Johnny said with a sudden smile. “Your soul is already mine—we share a heart remember? I don’t need you getting stupid ideas—imagine if you decided to become a hero, then died and decided to stick around these parts instead of letting me take you to the Otherworld. You’d drive yourself mad, Peter. You’d never sleep ever again.”

Peter blinked.

“You lied to me?” he asked.

“I’m a fire demon,” Johnny said. “We listen to truths. We don’t have to tell them.”

Wow.

“Know that I’m really upset with you right now,” Peter said.

Johnny bobbed his head.

“But you’re more upset about the hero,” he said. “No need for that. He didn’t become a hero by dumb luck, and anyways, look at his kid. He’ll be fine; he’s the original material. A little dark magic isn’t gonna tear him up. He’s probably just gonna—”

There was a flash like miniature lightening through the bars of the gate.

“I take it back,” Johnny said. “Whoopsy-daisy. Come on, now, heart-boy. Up and over.”

 ---

--

-

 Peter landed on the other side of the gate right into mud that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

“What’s going on?” he asked as Johnny hopped down with him.

“Big, wet,” Johnny said. “Dark, dark magic. Gross. Sticky. Here, we need more light.”

Little embers glittered in the throw of fire that expanded Johnny’s lantern lights. It brightened the space substantially and when Peter looked down, the ground was dry.

“Dude,” Flash said. “You know what? I’m convinced.”

“Johnny Storm is a fire demon,” Abe wept into his hands.

“Stay here,” Peter told Ned and MJ, we’ll be—”

“BACK. BACK. BACK.”

Johnny slammed Peter against the fence and let out a hiss that sounded like water hitting a scalding piece of metal. Peter’s heart throbbed. Johnny slowly released the pressure on him and made a clicking noise.

“I think,” he said after a moment. “That perhaps I am not a big enough fire.”

Dude, what?

Johnny turned to him.

“Sorry,” he said sadly. “More and more are waking up every second. They’re heavy.”

Dude, what?

“I’m really sorry,” Johnny said. “But uh. I think I need to, uh—”

“Need to what, Johnny?” MJ demanded on the other side of the fence.

Johnny looked like he was going to cry.

 ---

--

-

 “JONATHAN STORM.”

Scary, scary, scary, scary, scary.

“Sue,” Johnny pleaded. “Not here. Not now. There’s hero in the—”

“Oh, I see him,” Sue Storm said, looming. “He’s doing just fine. He’ll hold on for long enough for me to—”

“It’s my fault,” Peter blurted out. “I called him here.”

Sue Storm’s blue eyes seemed to blaze in the dark.

“Don’t blame him,” Johnny said. “I’ll take it. He’s my human. I’ll take it.”

“This is dark magic,” Sue said. “None of you should be here. This earth will turn sodden under the spell of these monsters. The hero will return it to balance. You two, in the meantime, are no heroes. Not even halves of one.”

Peter felt his face burning.

“He’s the selkie’s, Sue,” Johnny said quietly. “He’s not long a hero. Please help him?”

Sue Storm chewed her tongue, gazing holes into Johnny’s face. Johnny looked away first.

“Which selkie?” she demanded.

“Her name is Margaret,” Peter said.

Sue’s face jerked his way. Her eyes widened and she turned back out towards the cemetery.

“Oh,” she said softly. “That selkie. She’s more like us.”

Peter frowned.

“I don’t—” he started.

“She honors the earth and its fae even though she’s sea folk,” she said. She sighed heavily. “Alright, fine. I’ll help. But for the hero, not either of you, you hear? Johnny, you’ll need to make things right with the selkie. She’ll be furious. She’s been nothing but kind to our people. We can’t repay her like this.”

“Will do,” Johnny said.

“Stay here,” Sue said. “All of you. The curse has got into you. We’ll break it all at once.”

Oh shit.

MJ and Ned turned slowly towards Peter.

“Curse?” Ned asked.

Peter groaned.

---

--

-

 “It’s a friendship circle,” Johnny bubbled as Peter shoved him, once again, into the sigil he was trying to draw in the dirt at the cemetery entrance.

“I’m gonna salt you in and I will not regret it,” Peter threatened him.

“Johnny, come sit,” Ned said, patting the place between him and Felicia.

“Never,” Johnny hissed at him. “My heart is right—”

Peter left him to finish the circle. Johnny hurried to keep up with him.

Flash watched after him with furrowed eyebrows and a fist pressed to his mouth.

“This is not how this night was supposed to go,” he said.

“We didn’t even ask any stupid questions,” Abe sighed.

“What’s she doing out there?” Felicia asked.

Peter shoved Johnny’s flailing body towards her and finally finished the circle. He’d never made one this big. He started in on the protective signs around the interior.

“She’s a boggart!” Johnny chirped. “She’s boggart-ing!”

Peter felt the pause of the others more than he heard it.

“What does that mean?” Felicia asked.

“Oh. She’s a faerie of darkness,” Johnny said. “So she’s probably winding her way through all the posers and chasing them back to their hovels so that she can go chase the witches away from the hero and let him rest for a bit. She’ll guide him back if he’ll let her—which he might not. You never know with heroes. He might not want her smell on him.”

Peter had the feeling that Mr. Murdock was made of more sense than pride.

“How long will that take?” Abe asked.

Johnny made happy crackling sounds.

“Who knows! Depends on the witches,” he said. “Depends on how many people she needs to terrify. Boggarts get power through fear. The more spirits she scares, the faster she’ll be.”

Peter moved Ned’s backpack out of the way and carried on.

There was a lull.

“Peter, what are you doing?” Felicia asked.

“Protection circle,” MJ said for him.

“Oh.”

There was another silence.

“Where did you learn that?” Abe asked.

“His aunt’s a full witch. She does business in herbs, potions, and materials for their part of Forest hills,” Ned said.

“Oh.”

Flash and Abe scooted forward to let Peter in behind him. They watched him.

“That’s pretty cool, actually,” Felicia said. “Thanks for that.”

A mumbled thanks went around the whole group. Peter finished the final marks and stepped carefully over them into the circle.

“It’s nothing,” he sighed, flopping down and dragging Johnny away from Ned. “I should have known better. I think the ghosts were trying to warn me from the start. I should have listened better.”

More awkward silence.

“Well, it sounds like the fighting’s calmed down,” MJ said. “Mr. Murdock should be okay.”

Yeah.

“Wait,” Abe said. “Isn’t that your boss, MJ?”

Welp.

“Ghost man is my boss’s dad,” MJ sighed.

“Oh my god,” Felicia giggled. “You guys roped your boss’s dad into a practical joke?”

“He didn’t even want to scare you guys,” Peter groaned. “Man, I gotta learn how to read spirits. Johnny, how do I read spirits?”

“No idea. Spirits don’t like me. I’m too bright and obnoxious,” Johnny said.

“I’m un-bonding us,” Peter said. “You have nothing but bad advice and secrets.”

Johnny made kissy noises at him then scrambled up straight.

“Sue’s got the hero,” he said. “She’s arguing with him. Ahahaha.”

Peter cleared his throat. Johnny startled.

“Right, sorry,” he said. “She’s uh. Trying to convince him to come with her, but he’s refusing to look at her. Smart guy, you know that? Name a boggart and they’ll go off on you. He doesn’t want to chance it. Sue’s telling him that she’ll do the invisible thing so he doesn’t see her and he’s not into it, guys.”

Peter took it back. Maybe Mr. Murdock had too much sense for his own good.

“Can you talk to him?” Felicia asked.

“Who? Hero-man? Nah. I can just feel Sue’s frustration,” Johnny said. “Sibling bond, forever. You know?”

No, Johnny. No one knew. The only people with siblings in the circle were MJ and Abe.

“You’re so annoying,” MJ said.

“Aw, I like you too,” Johnny tittered.

Peter yanked him back and prayed that Mr. Murdock would give into the inevitable soon.

 ---

--

-

 “Look? See? No trouble. Not even a little trouble. Did I lie to you?”

Peter snapped awake and shook himself. He blinked into the dark until the shapes of bodies appeared before him as the other woke up too. They all turned around to see the dark outline of Sue standing on the other side of the fence.

Mr. Murdock’s tall shape was there too.

They looked…uh.

Kinda scuffed up, actually, hair-wise and scratches and bruises--the whole thing.

“Lord, she’s still talking to me,” Mr. Murdock said, facing away from Sue, now that Peter could see better.

“God is smart enough to see through you talking to him to talk to me,” She pointed out.

“Lord, you are so unknowable,” Mr. Murdock said pointedly.

“You know, for a fae hero, you’re sure religious.”

“Please see me through this period of suffering,” Mr. Murdock carried on. “And safely away from this hostile body and place.”

Johnny leapt up.

“You found him!” he cheered.

“Yes, of course I did,” Sue said. “He was fine, by the way. Meat-head here has anvils for hands.”

“I keep hearing voices, Lord,” Mr. Murdock said miserably. “Whatever sin it is I’ve committed, I’m willing to repent. But you’ve gotta help me out, man; the priest is convinced I’m a demon in his confession box.”

“Move,” Sue told Johnny. “Come one, Hero-man. We’re going through a fence. I dunno if you’ll fit with all those muscles.”

They all watched as Sue got a handful of the back of Mr. Murdock’s shirt and dragged him through the largest part of the gate uncomfortably.

“You did it!” she cheered. “Successful hero. Another quest fulfilled. Look at all these living children. And you even picked up a rock! That’s good for a young guy like—”

“I’m going back to the church and I’m never leaving,” Mr. Murdock finally told her directly.

“Oh,” Sue said. “You’re a church hero. That’s new.”

“I’m done. No more seals. No more mountains. No more lakes. No more cemeteries,” Mr. Murdock said, shaking himself and dragging his hands through his hair to smooth it out.

“Oh, wow, you’ve really been through it, huh?” Sue asked his back as he left them all in place.

“No more superpowers either,” Mr. Murdock said over his shoulder at her. He moved on ahead purposefully.

“I want him,” Sue told Johnny forcefully.

“He’s taken,” Johnny reminded her.

“He’s sturdy is what he is,” Sue said.

“Reed is sturdy,” Johnny pointed out.

Sue contemplated this.

“But he’s not fae,” she said.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Sue, we can throw your boyfriend into a graveyard of dark magic and let him fight his way home,” he said. “That’s something we can do. We can even time him.”

Sue drummed fingers across her face and slowly wrapped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders until his cheek was smushed up against hers against his will.

“You are so smart, little brother, sometimes I forget how smart you are,” she said.

She threw him away and straightened herself out.

“We’re hours from dawn,” she said. “We’re going home. Baby witch, you and my brother will apologize to the selkie tomorrow. I don’t think the hero wants to stay with you until then. I’m 90% sure, actually, the hero is already catching a train without you. The rest of you--”

She rounded on all of them.

“Do not play with ghosts, witches, spirits or any receptacle of them, do I make myself clear?”

Peter shrunk under her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” they all mumbled.

She sniffed.

“Good,” she said. “Now we all need to go talk to baby’s witch’s mom. You have one hell of a curse hanging over you.”

---

--

-

 May was not pleased.

May doused them all in six different herb waters and made them eat something foul that tasted like charcoal and rubbing alcohol.

Then they had to get sprayed off with the hose in the backyard until all the cemetery mud came off and only then did May send everyone home.

---

--

-

 “Hey Peter?”

Peter looked up from his grinding in the doorframe the next morning—it as far as he was allowed at the present moment—and jumped at the whole group from the night before staring down at him.

He scrambled up.

“Uh, hi,” he said.

“Did you say sorry to the selkie yet?” Felicia asked him.

He almost wanted to shush her and check for passersby. May swore at something in the kitchen behind him. He edged forward and closed the door as far as he could without closing it all the way.

“No, not yet. What are you all doing here?” he asked.

He got a wave of eyebrows all around.

“We wanted to go with you and to say thanks. To the hero guy. You know. For uh, saving us from certain and horrible death,” Abe said.

Oh.

Oh.

“Let me, uh--give me just a second,” Peter said.

 ---

--

-

 Matt was at his apartment and he opened the door at the third knock. He heard MJ clear her throat and started cackling immediately.

“Don’t be a dick,” MJ said. “Let us say thank you.”

Matt remained inarticulate.

“Oh my god,” he finally choked. “Do you know—I haven’t—He hasn’t been this mad since I ate fries off the street—hold oh. Oh my god.”

Ew, man. That’s disgusting.

“Pops, come on out,” Matt coaxed, wiping tears from his eyes and skirting fingers across his kitchen counter until he got to cupboard under the sink. “They just wanna say sorry, Dad. It’s okay. There’s no secret second quest.”

Mr. Murdock refused to exit his newfound home.

Matt snickered so hard his shoulders shook. He stood up and found his counter to lean his elbows against.

“No harm, no foul to us,” he said amiably. “Mum’s been trying to keep a straight face in Mass. He came here for sympathy that I’m afraid I don’t have.”

Man. It was a wonder that Mr. Murdock stuck around at all.

Peter puffed himself up anyways.

“Mr. Murdock,” he said. “I know you can hear me. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry for roping you into the whole thing yesterday, but I’m also super glad you were there. ‘Cause we would’ve been screwed otherwise. So thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Felicia said. “You’re really nice, and I’m glad you were there, too.”

The others added their thanks to the pile and Matt grinned in the direction of the cupboard.

“Come onnn,” he drawled. “I can feel you giving in, in there.”

Nothing.

Matt muffled a round of giggles in his sleeve.

“He accepts your thanks,” he said. “He’s just allergic to sunlight and gratitude.”

The cupboard door rattled violently. Matt shoved a foot against it.

“Mum isn’t mad either, she thinks it’s healthy for him to do quests without her,” he said. “So you’re all good with the three of us.”

Peter wasn’t positive that they were actually. But okay, sure?

“I guess we’ll leave you guys to uh, brood? Baseball? Whatever it is you do together?” He said.

Matt hummed and nodded and waved them out. Peter shut the door behind them.

“That was easy,” Flash said.

“Man, I hope my dad just dies the once,” Abe said.

“My dad isn’t cool enough to fight zombies in a graveyard,” Felicia said.

MJ considered this.

“My mom could do it,” she said.

Ned snorted. Peter swallowed a laugh.

---

--

-

 “So,” Flash said as they passed by the church that Mr. Murdock usually called home. “I know it was all kind of an actual nightmare, but like. I dunno.”

Peter stopped.

“You want more fae bullshit?” he asked in shock.

Flash rubbed at the back of his neck and even Abe and Felicia refused to make eye contact. Ned and MJ stared at them, then Peter in shock.

“It’s just really cool,” Flash admitted. “Like, there’s all this stuff that I thought was fake. But it’s all happening here, all at once—you know. Heroes and zombies and fire demons and witches.”

“This isn’t a tv show,” Peter said. “You know that right? Like, we don’t always win? Yeah, there are heroes and witches, but there’s also really bad magic. Dangerous fae. There are turf wars and tricksters and everything you do is a deal and you always owe someone something. It’s not always fun.”

“Okay, but isn’t it better to know?” Flash asked.

Peter closed his lips.

He didn’t have an argument for that.

“I’m not teaching you,” he sniffed. “I’m already apprenticed. If you want a mentor, it can’t be me—and you can’t have my demon.”

“But he’s Johnny Storm,” Abe blurted out. “Johnny. Storm. Peter, how did you even swing that? And why does he listen to you.”

“He doesn’t,” MJ butted in.

“He does,” Peter corrected.

“He really doesn’t,” Ned said. “Peter’s an amateur witch at best who bound himself to a fire demon with impulse control issues.”

Wow. Betrayed by his own family.

“I’m leaving, I’m grounded, you guy go get a grimoire or something and learn your magic bullshit yourselves,” he said.

“Aww, come on.”

“They were just joking, Peter.”

“Come backkkkk.”

Mr. Murdock had the right idea. Peter had a cupboard to find.

------

 Hope this hits the spot, boo!! And Happy Halloween, y’all!

#fic #ficlet #selkie verse #witch peter witch peter witch peter

[gailynovelry]

WIP List Tag

Thanks to @albatris for the tag!

Rules: Share a list of the stories you’re currently working on, regardless of whether or not you have introduced them to writeblr before. I’m going to apologize to you beforehand because all of these are going to long. They are also queer. I do not apologize for that.

Heralds of Rhimn: A YA Dark Fantasy and my oldest project. The first book in the series is Shadow Herald;

“Few gods remain on the world of Rhimn, and the ones that do use special servants known as Heralds as pawns in the conflict between themselves. And not every Herald is happy with their role…

As Navaeli the Shadow Herald comes clashing with the dual threats of the Irongardhe knights and her own vengeful goddess, she finds romance in a handsome hooligan girl and friendship in a young feyrie thief — and with them, the courage to fight back against the injustices of her world.

But can Navaeli break free from the chains of her duty, or will she be the first casualty in the oncoming war between the gods?“

In essence, Navaeli is a dark messiah lesbian who Does Not Want To Be A Protagonist Please, Crislie is a love interest who decides to put her brawling problem to work protecting Navaeli, and Meparik is baby, but baby with many issues. In the time you’ve taken to read these character descriptions, he has probably already stolen your wallet.

The series as a whole involves some good wlw rapid-yearning-to-mutually-protective-girlfriends, REVOLUTION, a new take on fairies and a big ol’ middle-fingered subversion to the Oppressed Mage trope, and eventually some good ol’ fashioned god-killing.

The first book is going to come out May 20th this year! I have made a pretty cover for it, and also for the sequel! I am very proud of this!

Mindhive: A NA dystopia and the first project I’ve written where my characters are explicitly allowed to say “fuck.” They very much need to use this word, given the world I’ve built for them to inhabit.

“Dead-broke and dead-set on paying off his student loans before he’s forty, Nathaniel Emersin signed up as a paid test subject for ReGene, a genetics company with a mysterious new invention that they promise will change the world; the Worker Bee Implant.

But Nathaniel has one little secret that didn’t make it onto paper…

He’s also been hired by ReGene’s rival company, Future Body, to sabotage the trial and steal the mysterious new technology that ReGene’s been working on.”

Complications arise due to the presence of a very amicable security AI and the fact that Nathaniel gets attached to the two other lab rats he gets assigned to for the trial. And by “attached” I mean “develops mutual deep crushes on both Lucine and Avery, has a few cover-compromising panic attacks over it, and eventually reveals to them that he’s being hired to be a secret agent guy doing secret agent things.”

So he sort of decides to run away with his new girlfriend and datemate to an activist group who could a) remove the implant possibly and b) sue ReGene?

Needless to say, ReGene nor Future Body are happy with this turn of events, and decide that they should probably stop him before they experience consequences for the human experimentation and corporate sabotage.

Also, they take the AI with them. His name is Vertigo and he would like for someone to explain to him what a Vocaloid is.

Galactic Empress: This story is me indulging in my very specific need to write a royalty space opera political thriller. It is very high up on the Maslow’s chart of needs for me. It showed up one day and did not leave my brain.

“After the unresolved assassination of her mother, sweet but politically-savvy Princess Glissandrah Ayamarak — known better as Gliss — ascends to Galactic Empress earlier than she’d ever wanted to.

With her mother’s murderer still at large, Glissandrah turns to outsiders to protect her while she figures out just what game is being played in the Galactic Quorum. And it turns out that turning three hardened mercenaries into loyal royal bodyguards is harder than she first thought… but when anyone inside the Quorum could be after the crown, what other choice does she have?”

The hot and slightly controversial bodyguard team in question consists of Li-ah-li, a polite and slightly tired space furry, Yuukmi, a plantperson gunslinger with a space blaster in each of xer four hands, and Jennifer, a gruff human mercenary with a protective streak for her two alien comrades. This story is also polyamorous!

The Ghosts of Grimmigkeit Manor: I literally started working on this one again yesterday; it’s a reworking of a VERY old fully-OC pokemon fanfiction I wrote when I was fourteen, which has been subsequently lost to time. The genre is uhhhhhh paranormal shenanigans with semi-mystery vibes and a strong dose of snark. Probably NA.

The story follows three protagonists. Firstly is Eustace, a coroner who is doing a terrible job of divorcing himself from his family’s slightly goth business and reputation. Secondly is his triplet sister Alison, who is currently being The Responsible One running the family business of selling funeral caskets and who maybe should stop breaking the maids’ hearts in her free time. Thirdly is Dirk, the other triplet, who looks up to Eustace quite a bit and would really like it if his siblings got along more and maybe relaxed enough to let him leave the manor to go to college?

Anyway, during Eustace’s yearly Christmas visit to the family manor, it turns out that Eustace and Dirk can both see ghosts! This phases Eustace significantly more than Dirk, since Dirk has schizophrenia and didn’t realize at first that the ghosts were separate from his usual hallucinations.

The story at large involves family secrets, intimidating and quirky relatives, a murder that happened a quarter of a century ago, and this one really terrible ghost who needs to STOP MAKING THE WALLS BLEED BLOOD and who maybe is the triplets’ father. They have to figure out how to yeet him into the afterlife so that he stops causing problems.

Also, a different and more chill ghost owes Uncle Freddie money.

Misc: I have a dozen other ideas that I float around but Deliberately Wait To Work On because my stories are stews and they need some time to simmer in the crock pot that is my brain. Among these are a mermaid/selkie wlw romance, a mlm post-apoc ??? story, and various wlw Eragon ripoffs where there’s dragons being ridden and cool things happening.

#writeblr #tag games #WIP summary #lgbtq fiction #trying to clear these out #i've been busy whoops #Heralds of Rhimn #Galactic Empress #Mindhive #Ghosts of Grimmigkeit #this is good practice for summarizing! #i need more work on that

[potatotrash0]

I haven't talked about monster au for a bit, so I'm gonna prattle for a hot sec since I haven't bombarded your inbox in a fortnight 💕

Gundham actually is an angel demon hybrid in this. Yes yes, the start to all those Gachaverse videos, but who gives a shit? Not me at this point. Given the fact angels and demons are different species, and speciation doesn't just apply to animals here, Gundham got somewhat fucked over with genetics. Think of the zebra-donkey thing that somehow managed to exist without dying immediately. Gundham Tanaka is an anomaly. His DNA strands tend to change in strands, so he has a much harder time keeping his form in one state. His number of limbs changes (from what everyone else can see it's around 3-4 arm changes an hour but Gundham can easily tell you from all the bones trying to poke through his skin that such isn't the case) constantly, if he doesn't watch himself things like his fingers getting too long and breaking like an uncooked noodle or the halo that's stuck through his head will rotate in place (this coats the halo in blood and is super painful! Two birds one stone hahaha!) or his some of his bones getting so out of proportion of the other bones that he'll fall over from the sudden weight change or other shitty nonsense. Should I have just let him be a werewolf or a selkie like the initial plan? Yes. Am I going to do that? The hell not.

Akane is an oni. No, I will not elaborate on this. That is all. More at 8

Oh that sounds horrifying but I’m in love with that........I feel like Sonia would be really curious and ask how some things work, she’d probably jump to help him when things start acting up.

Also I love that you put a whole essay for Gundham and then like. One (1) sentence for Akane dkdnskfbdjb I can totally see her with a sick oni mask though.

#em answers #therandomfuzz2 #danganronpa #sdr2 #tanaka gundham #gundham tanaka #owari akane #akane owari #gore #? #gore cw #body horror #body horror cw #swearing #swearing cw #dr monster au

[seizethecarpe]

Hunting Me, Hunting You || Dave and Rio

Timing: Current @3starsquinn​ @seizethecarpe​ Summary: Dave and Rio meet in the woods for some fun bonding activities Warnings: Some medical blood

Dave collapsed against a nearby tree, gasping with exhaustion. His legs and arms had a few nasty scratches on them, but considering the other guy… Dave wiped at his mouth, trying to clear some of the thick taste of blood from his lips. Instead, all he managed to do was smear it even further, and there was nothing to be done about the blood that had spilled right down his neck. It was his own goddamn fault, Dave thought, if he’d had his rifle with him, would have been a whole less of a problem. Seeing as this town seemed to draw the worst of all sorts of critters, he shoulda been more prepared. Rubbing at the scratch marks, he stared at the cockatrice he’d just torn the head off of with mild shock. Sure wasn’t what he’d had planned for tonight. 

Orion had heard the skirmish, but almost stopped heading towards it when he smelled the blood. He froze, unsure how far away the fight had been, but sure that wherever he was going it could be dangerous. The smell made Rio dizzy, a sickening feeling settling into his stomach. But he had to shake off that fear. Someone could be hurt, or worse. He ducked around trees, smacking his arms off of branches as he tried to weave between the foliage and follow the smell of blood. He finally broke out into a clearing and spotted a man, on the ground against a tree with a familiar creature’s body lying beside it. The cockatrice was a relatively new species that Rio had learned about, but he certainly hadn’t expected to see one lying against the ground beheaded. “Hey uh… are you okay?” Rio approached the man with caution, making sure to hold his hands up so he knew he wasn’t a threat while also trying to maintain a good difference in case the man himself was a danger. Once he got a better look he realized that the blood pooling off of his face and neck had come from his mouth, more specifically the sharp, jagged teeth of a selkie. Woah. “Hey there. Are you okay?” Rio asked again, but this time signed as he spoke, “Do you need me to call someone?” He didn’t know for sure if the man would understand ASL like Skylar did, but he thought it was worth a try. 

There was a piece of cockatrice skin stuck in his back teeth. Dave tongued at it until he could get it out, and spat it out right before he caught sight of the man approaching. For dangerous, haunted woods, there sure were a lot of people walking off the beaten path. Didn’t they know there were bears and screaming moose all over the place, according to the news? Dave stood back up rapidly even though the guy had his hands raised, but that didn’t seem to mean all that much in this town. He shut his mouth, hiding the teeth, but hadn’t caught the first thing Orion had said, so he had no idea what exactly was going on. Dave narrowed his eyes as Rio spoke again, this time following it with sign language. “Don’t call anyone,” he signed back without speaking. “How’d you know I was hard of hearing?”

Figures that the man wouldn’t want Orion to call an ambulance or anything. That seemed to be pretty common here in town, Rio himself included. There were plenty of injuries that Rio had sustained that he should have gone to the hospital for, but refused to. The longer Rio looked at the man, the more injuries he could pick out. The man had quite the battle it seemed, and Rio was worried that the man was in worse shape than he was willing to admit to a stranger. “Okay. I won’t call anyone. But can I come closer? To help?” Rio signed again, hands still raised in the air. How did he explain that he had a feeling the man would be hard at hearing and may know sign language? The easiest option would be to feign ignorance and pretend it was just a lucky guess. But something told him that the man was smarter than that. Instead, Rio decided for the truth. Or at least one facet of the truth. Rio pointed at his own mouth and opened wide to show off his teeth, “I know a couple of people. They are uh- they have teeth like yours.” Rio signed, hoping that told the man what he needed to know. “My name is Rio. Can I help you?” 

So he had seen Dave’s teeth and really recognised them. Sometimes, people tended to gloss right on over them even if they did see it. Same with his shadow. It just was the kind of thing ignorant eyes tended to skate over. Guess the blood drew a whole lot more attention to it. And the dead cockatrice, couldn’t forget about that. Rio didn’t seem uneasy about that, either. He clearly knew more than the average Joe, so after a long moment, Dave nodded. “Not too bad,” he signed, gesturing at the scratches on his arms and legs. They matched the already intense scarring on his limbs all the same. “Dave,” he replied, first by giving his name sign, then spelling out his english one to boot. “It just jumped outta nowhere, all aggressive like. Not a clue why.”

It was a little scary, seeing how much damage those teeth could do. It wasn’t something that Orion had thought much about before. Ricky could fight if needed, but tended to be pretty easy going. And Skylar was one of the nicest, most docile people that Rio knew. Neither had made him consider just how dangerous a selkie could be. Though Rio hardly had room to judge considering his own genetics. “They look pretty painful though.” Along with the blood and wounds, Rio could pick out a myriad of scars and cuts along the man’s body. He had no idea where they came from, but he knew they seemed remarkably similar to the ones hidden beneath Rio’s hoodie and pants. Thinking about them made Rio scratch at his arms reflexively. “I’m familiar with those things.” Rio signed and pointed at the cockatrice. The smell of blood coming from it was intense, and Rio used the sleeve of his shirt to try to block the scent. It only barely worked since he also had to use that hand to sign. “I mean, I’ve never run into one. But I’ve read about them before.” Rio risked taking a few steps forward. The man could be dangerous. The beheaded creature lying next to him was proof enough. But despite this, Rio believed him that he had done it in self defense. So Rio wasn’t scared, even though he maybe should have been. As long as this man didn’t have a deep hatred for hunters and as long as Rio didn’t out himself, all should be good, right? Rio crept closer again, leaning down on the ground in front of the man and sliding the book bag off of his back. “I probably have some wipes in here that we can use to try to clean some of the blood and dirt off. Are you okay with that?”

“Skin like leather, it ain’t too bad,” Dave signed back with a dismissive wave of his hands. Stung like hell and salt water, but it was the sort of pain he was getting more and more often these days. Every hunt was beginning to end with injuries. More and more, ones he couldn’t so easily shrug off. It wasn’t too bad in the water, where he was faster than most of the things around, and smarter. He wasn’t that much faster than anyone on land, and that was where his joints were beginning to give out. “I’ve seen them once before. A big one, nearly as big as a cow. Had killed half the farmer’s family before they got a hunter out for it. Think I got lucky with that one, barely the size of a fox.” He shifted, rolling up his shorts and then his sleeves as permission for Rio to treat him, although he was still watching the guy closely. He just looked like a normal, lanky kid, but that didn’t mean much at all. Looks could be all sorts of deceiving. He had his own shit for cleaning things up in the car, but he wasn’t about to say no to help, nor a friendly face. “So how come you know about selkies and cockatrices?” He asked curiously. 

The story was a scary one, and an eye opener. The book that Orion had read that mentioned the beast hadn’t mentioned them getting that big. It made Rio’s eyes grow wide thinking about. A family taken out by something like that, when they had seemingly not done anything to provoke it. Another case that someone like Adam or Alain would have taken with no reservation. A creature that should have been stopped. There were more and more of those cases popping up in Rio’s life recently. Could Rio have taken the cockatrice’s life by himself, without the likes of Kaden or Alain there to watch over him? “It might sting” Rio signed, not bothering to speak this time. He had never really spent time on the other side of the battle wounds. He was always the one that someone was helping bandage, or trying to clean his own wounds. Being on the outside felt like a sort of out of body experience, like it should have been Rio in the place that Dave was in right now. He started by trying to focus on the bloodiest parts, wiping them clean so he could get a better look at the wound itself. Luckily, like Dave said, they didn’t seem too bad. All the blood must have mostly come from the cockatrice. Orion held his hands up to answer Dave’s question but hesitated for a long moment before actually signing. He hated this part. Trying to explain how he knew what he knew. Having to pick between his lies. Because admitting the truth was so much worse. But now, Rio had a new answer that he hadn’t gotten the chance to use much before. “I’m..” He started but waved his hands away after deciding to restart the sentence, “It’s hard to explain. Have you ever heard of the Scribes?”

Dave nodding, gritting his sharp teeth as Rio moved over. He usually did this shit himself, unless he’d been hunting with someone else and they had to clean up each other. Most people tended to think that his injuries were worse than they were, on account of how goddamn much he bled relative to the average human, how much more blood he had in him. He hissed as Orion wiped away the blood, cleaning him up bit by bit. What was worrying was the way he paused at Dave’s question. Like he was preparing to hide something or lie about something. Not that he didn’t get the need for secrecy,  but jesus, he was bleeding and exposed in front of this kid, was it really that bad to ask for equivalent exchange. “Yeah, but they’re basically extinct nowadays. You’re a little young to have been one, considering they all but vanished fifty years ago.” He signed, and narrowed his eyes a little. “Might as well spit it out. Ain’t about to judge you.”

The man, Dave, yelped as Orion wiped at the blood and each time it made Rio practically jump out of his skin. “Sorry- Sorry. I’m not used to doing this. Especially to someone else.” He hoped this was helping more than it was causing pain, but the amount of blood was definitely concerning. “Right. Of course.” Dave was familiar with the scribes, which Rio couldn’t decide if that surprised him or not. It was hard to determine. On one hand, it had been mostly kept secret back in the day from people that were not knowledgeable of the supernatural. On the other hand, Rio wasn’t alive back then. He had no idea what the circumstances were like for those that did know about the supernatural. Had the Scribes had some lowkey way to advertise themselves? Maybe if Rio knew this man better he would ask. For now, Rio needed to decide how much of the truth he wanted to share. Having his throat torn out for being a hunter wasn’t at the top of his to do list today. “My uncle was one. Back in the day. Sort of.” Rio sighed before continuing to sign, “He tried to be at least. He joined more towards the end. He was always obsessed with the idea of bringing them back.” Obviously, that hadn’t worked out. Unless wherever he disappeared to was currently thriving from supernatural knowledge. For all Rio knew, he could have his own Scribrary now. “He showed me some stuff as a kid. So I try to learn what I can. Help out if possible.” 

"I can do it myself just fine if you ain't comfortable, kid." Dave replied, although it was concerning the way he said he was more used to doing it for himself than others. Especially for a scribe. Maybe if you grew up in a town like this you just got used to being hurt. But hell, the kid was young, right? Surely he couldn't have that much experience unless he was real unlucky, or he was looking for trouble. Which, considering that he called himself a scribe, might have been the case. "But it hurts because I got attacked by a clawed little fucker, not because of you cleaning it." Dave shifted, the harsh crackled barrel of the tree pressing hard against his back, scratching at his skin. I'm the brown of the foliage he caught sight of something moving, a small millipede creeping over and under the dead leaves. It wasn't easy to see when all the colours looked so similar, but that was why Dave kept his eyes focused on it as Rio cleaned, until the kid raised his hands to speak again. "From what I remember, it was always considered a tight line for Scribes. Folks didn't want to share and the scribes had to be really careful about what they knew and told others too. It came apart for a reason. Why do you want to bring it back?"

“It’s okay. You’ve been through enough. Clearly.” Orion gestured at the various wounds. Even if Rio wasn’t comfortable doing this, he needed to be. This was what it meant to help people, right? He would have to do things that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. As far as that possibility went, Rio supposed that trying to clean and dress some wounds was along the more tame of those fears. Even if the smell of blood and the look of wounds were sometimes enough to make Rio dizzy and nauseous. “You’re right. From what I’ve read, at least. They seemed a bit narrow minded.” Rio didn’t know how to describe it any kinder than that. As far as he was concerned, the Scribes' refusal to move forward and think more progressively led to their downfall. But without having actually been there, Rio couldn’t say for sure if that was the nail in the coffin for them. “I want things to be different. I want to help people without being as outdated or… neutral. I don’t want to just keep the knowledge I want to actually use it to help.” Rio realized how idealistic it was even as he said it. “I guess it sounds crazy, huh? I’m just some kid. Restarting a fallen organization seems a bit far fetched.” Rio finished wiping the blood from the man and moved onto wounds themselves. He started to bandage what he could, careful to do it without hurting the man if possible. “Now that the blood has been cleaned up a bit, it doesn’t look as bad as I thought it might be. Can you walk, after this? If we can get to my car I can drive you anywhere you need to go.”

"Hmmm," Dave replied shortly. He’d never been the type to sidestep the difficult stuff, and this kid, no matter how well intentioned, wasn’t going to find his endeavour as easy as he probably thought. Never mind the lack of knowledge and wisdom thing, that just had to come with time. So he asked the difficult question, and weighed his expectations entirely against Rio’s answer. Hell, it wasn’t like he didn’t in theory have need for a Scribe. He needed to hunt down a fury, and he still couldn’t really understand what they hell they were. “But how do you choose the right person to help? How would you know who the right person to help is?” He shrugged off Rio’s concerns about his injuries. “Yeah, I can walk. My van is just a quarter of a mile away. It ain’t too bad, I just sat down because my stamina ain’t what it used to be. ‘Specially not on land.” He pressed his hand against the bark and hefted himself up into standing, some more blood spilling out of his scrapes, but he’d scab over soon enough. “C’mon, scribeling.”

 It was a decent question. Orion liked to hope that in the moment, he would be able to judge that for himself. That he could determine whether or not someone was the right person or not. But it wasn’t entirely lost on him that he tended to be a bit over trusting when it came to anybody without the surname Quinn. It was a quality that he knew needed fixing, but he still clung desperately onto. At the end of the day, that desire to make friends with and understand new people were all Rio felt like he had to offer. If he lost his ability to trust, what did Rio even have left? Still, he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if he found out that he helped someone kill an innocent person. “I don’t know, honestly.” Rio finally answered, the silence that lingered between them as he thought, making him too restless, “I don’t want to give out the wrong information to the wrong person.” By that, Rio knew he meant hunters. He wondered how Dave felt about hunters. Was it a given that all supernatural creatures hated them? Rio would understand why. “Maybe I need to develop some vetting process. Make them answer a bunch of questions before I decide if I should help or not.” It wasn’t exactly altruistic, but Rio had no interest in help any random person that wandered by with a supernatural problem. His end goal was to help educate and find some sort of balance or safe zone. Helping a hunter trying to neutralize a werewolf or fae meant nothing to him. The man forced himself up, the movement causing the bleeding to start again. Or speed up at least, Rio wasn’t convinced it had stopped at all. “Scribeling. I like that.” Rio chuckled at the name. He bet Winston would like it too. “Well I’ll just help you get to your van then. Make sure there’s not another one of those things roaming around. I think you’ve lost enough blood for the night.”

 “Alright.” Dave didn’t point out that the kid looked skinny and sorta on the short side, that if something else did jump out then it would be Dave doing the hard work, not the little human scribe who had experience bandaging himself up more than other folks. He took a step carefully, testing how stable he was on his legs before starting to walk in earnest, taking liberal advantage of being able lean on trees as he passed each one. “So, Rio, do you know- Hold up.” Dave said, shutting off his brief attempt at conversing as he gripped the bark of a tree.  Ever so faintly, it rumbled, with each step through the ground. If it hadn’t rained so recently, it would have been harder to tell, but damn, he could feel it. “Something’s coming. Get back, kid.”

Orion watched carefully as Dave stumbled through the forest. He didn’t stay upright so much as he teetered between trees. Rio wanted to let the man cross the distance himself considering he seemed to be pretty independent, but he would be lying if he claimed he didn’t follow closely behind, ready at any moment to try to jump forward to catch the man from falling. As it was, Dave seemed to be managing fairly well on his own, all things considered. The man began asking Rio a question, but cut off mid sentence. Rio paused, hovering closely to the man. Did he need a minute to catch his breath? But of course things couldn’t be as simple as that. Somehow, Dave knew that danger was on its way. The sudden panic made Rio’s own senses perk up. “We should run, then.” Rio suggested, studying the man’s condition. “You’re already hurt enough, right?”

“You should run. I ain’t got a clue which way it’s comin’ from, but I think I got a better chance with this thing than a newfound Scribe. I’ll be safer too, if I ain’t looking to keep the both of us alive. Now.” Dave growled. If he took his hand from the tree, he wouldn’t feel the reverberations of it coming anymore, and it still wasn’t close enough for him to hear, although if it was as close as it felt maybe Rio would be able to hear it soon. He wouldn’t need the tree roots deep in the ground resonating with steps in the soil to tell them that now. Bipedal, possibly something like a tail or pray being dragged along behind it. Please, not another fucking cockamabob. “Now!”

“What? No way. You’re joking right??” Orion asked the man incredulously, staring at him as if he had gone completely insane. He had read about Selkies a lot since befriending Skylar and Ricky. He knew that the amount of blood wasn’t necessarily indicative of the seriousness of the wounds. Selkies just had more blood than humans did. But the extent of the injury didn’t matter. What did matter was that this man would be in serious trouble trying to fight something off on his own. “You’re already hurt. You could die!” Rio was glancing around trying to figure out where the creature was coming from, but his stupid senses weren’t helping right now. “You don’t have to worry about keeping me alive. Seriously.” Rio had no weapons on him. He hated carrying them in the first place. Although he was trying to assure the man that he could take care of himself, Rio had no interest in fighting or wounding anything. But right now he wasn’t sure how much of a choice he would have. He glanced around, hoping to find a big enough rock or something that he might be able to use as a weapon, but nothing immediately stuck out. Eventually, he decided he would have to settle for something a bit less conventional. He grabbed at a large branch towards the bottom of the tree and yanked, cracking in easily and ripping it from the tree. He broke off the extra twigs and leaves attached to it and tried to wield the thing like a club, glancing nervously over at Dave and lifting a hand to sign, “You sure we can’t just run?”

“Like hell I don’t,” Dave replied sharply. They were close now. Where the fuck were they? The bushy undergrowth was hiding whatever it was, and he couldn’t feel enough with the damp soil and complete absence of rain. He was trying to keep quiet, just in case they hadn’t been heard up until right then, but there was little hope in that. Less, when Rio snapped the branch, but Dave pulled out his hunting knife, better prepared this time. It would have been a real good fucking idea to have his net and trident, but tough shit. “I’m sure. This ain’t my first rodeo.” There wasn’t much more to say beyond that, and there wasn’t much time to say anything more at all. Dave grabbed Rio and yanked him to his side just as two more cockatrices leapt out from between the trees, as big as the one he’d just killed. Possibly from the samy brood as this one. Considering how beat up he was, and that he had some human kid at his side, Dave didn’t like his odds. Without waiting a second longer, he feinted hard left, looking to their attention. 

Orion knew this wasn’t a good idea, he just wasn’t exactly sure why yet. Staying in general was a mistake, but Rio wasn’t sure whether he was going to be more of a burden in this fight. The thought of fighting back against the threat made him think of the troll. His arm began shaking while holding the branch and he felt glued to the spot he was in. But this was different, right? The creatures that were attacking were more like spawns. They knew only instincts. If it came to life or death, Rio knew who he needed to protect. Who to fight for. The cockatrices were fast, Rio’s hunter reflexes kicking in as he leapt away from the spot he had been in. Unfortunately, the reflexes didn’t do much for Rio’s balance. He had jumped away from the creature and right into a tree, crashing against it and stealing the breath from Rio’s lungs. He righted himself as quickly as he could, quickly looking around to find Dave. He definitely knew how to fight. Rio needed to make sure to not get in his way while also making sure to keep him safe. Both seemed easier said than done. “Decapitation,” Rio called out, hating the words as he said it, “that’s the easiest way to kill them!”

Great, he’d just get right on that then. Wasn’t exactly easy to decapitate anything fast with just teeth, as Dave’d learned on the first go around. Even as he feinted, he drew both their attentions, and one pounced before he’d even finished moving. Dave threw himself to the ground as it flew right over him, and scrambled back to his feet. Not nearly damn spry enough for this anymore. Didn’t make a difference that both of them were sized like rottweilers, because now there were two of them. He jumped on the one that had just leapt over him, crushing it to the ground as he tore his teeth through the wing closest to his mouth. The beast squawked, twisting and scraping him up as it wriggled out from under him, aiming a bite right at his throat. He threw leaves and forest debris in its face to avoid the deadly teeth, and got back on his feet just for the other to knock him down. “Get OUT of here!” He bellowed at Rio, although he wouldn’t lie, a hand, or even just a distraction wouldn’t be a bad thing right now.

It came down to a decision, as it usually did. Orion had options. Run away like Dave had told him to multiple times already. Try to distract the creatures and by Dave some time. Or try to attack them himself. None of the three were ideal. All three had risks. There was no clear answer, nothing that guaranteed success or a happy ending. So why did Rio have to make this decision when he was so freaking bad at making them? It was enough to make him feel nauseous, but only because it was obvious that Rio knew what the right choice was. He just didn’t want to do it. Not after how the troll had made him feel. Ignoring the sinking pit in his stomach that threatened to root him to the spot he was standing in, Rio pushed himself to move forward and raced up behind one of the cockatrice. He grabbed the thing by it’s tail while it was focused on going after Dave and yanked with as much strength as he could muster. The creature was pulled backwards, lifted off of the ground as Rio chucked it across the opening, its body slamming against a tree and collapsing against the ground. Not dead by anyways, but stunned enough for the moment to even the playing field. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to help.” Rio reassured Dave and stood his ground, just as Adam had been teaching him. The easy part was over. Now he had to figure out if he had what it took to kill the thing.

Dave didn’t question the second weight was lifted from his back and hurled away from him. He pushed himself back onto his feet, wishing they were near a water way. He glanced at Rio just long enough to orientate himself as to where his partner and his foes was. For a scribe, the kid packed a punch, and he stood in a trained stance, preparing himself. But Dave couldn’t shake fear he’d seen in Rio before. Problem with fighting without weapons was that he had to get damn close. Fortunately these things did too. When the first one, called Combsy, Dave decided, on behalf of its bright orange cockerel comb, lunged, this time he jerked right and stomped on its leg until the feather thin bones snapped. One wing down and one leg down, it was a fuck ton less of a threat. Dave hopped back as it lunged for his leg, before it squawked in pain, struggling to keep moving. “Can you deal with this one?” He asked Rio. Combsy wasn’t completely out for the count, but the other was shaking its serpentine neck and coming in for a second taste. 

Could Orion deal with that one? It seemed like a simple enough question from Dave, but not one that Rio felt like he could answer convincingly. “Uh- sure” Rio answered, hoping that he was right. It would have been embarrassing if Dave had to save Rio from this thing after assuring him that he could handle it. It would be even more embarrassing if Rio died to the thing. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, the cockatrice had no problem distinguishing which one Rio was and was nice enough to circle around Rio, ready to pounce at any moment. Rio found himself spinning around, trying to follow its movements but doing little more than dizzying himself. This thing was fast. Rio had the reflexes of a hunter but wasn’t exactly reliable enough to have the coordination of one. Once the thing pounced, Rio wasn’t sure that he would be able to dodge it for long. His only chance was to incapacitate the thing before it did too much damage. He shrugged his denim jacket off, wrapping one of the sleeves around his wrist to fasten it and then spreading out his stance to keep himself stable. Then he waited, until the beast’s movements slowed and Rio realized that he was jumping. He shifted as quickly as he could, raising his arms up as a shield and crying out when the beast bit down into his arm. There was a crushing pressure, but Rio didn’t feel into digging into his skin. One stroke of luck, the thing didn’t seem to have sharp enough fangs to get through the hoodie and denim jacket. Rio worked as quickly as he could, looping the rest of the denim jacket around the creature’s head and pulling it tightly. He tied the sleeves together and double knotted them, only letting go once he was sure the creature could no longer open it’s mouth. It lunged away from him, jumping up and down and rearing its head back and forth as it tried to get the jacket off. Rio took the distraction as an opportunity and found the same stick he had grabbed before and used it to smack against the creature, hoping that he could hit it enough to force it into unconsciousness. 

Unconvinced but satisfied with Rio’s answer, Dave turned his attention back to the cockatrice he’d been fighting, waiting for it to dart forward so he could lunge too, crushing it under his weight. Dave trapped the cockatrice under his body, one knee over each wing. Its broken hollow bones poked into his calf as it screeched worse than any human he’d ever heard. Damn thing wasn’t right, nor wrong, it didn’t deserve to die at all, let alone in pain. Its death was functional, so Dave twisted its neck fast until the crack of its bones echoed off the trees like a gunshot. That wasn’t enough to kill it, but it stopped squirming and screaming, and it made this last part easier. His teeth tore through scales and ligament and bone, until with a horrifying squelch it separated, spewing blood all over his face. The head dropped to the ground, and the body with it. “How you doing, kid?” 

 The monster hadn’t stopped moving, but it had definitely slowed. Orion was pretty sure he had managed to damage its wing. It was on the ground now, hopelessly pawing at the jean jacket wrapped around it’s head. The pointed edge of the large stick Rio had broken from the tree stabbed against the ground, and Rio was very aware how easy it would be to impale the creature and end everything. But everytime he went to lift the stick all he could think about was the troll and the way it had cried out when Rio had taken its life. The familiar loud buzzing noise started ringing in Rio’s ear. It was a familiar sound that took over whenever he became too stressed. The sound only cut out when Dave spoke from behind him. Rio jumped at the sudden words and spun around, glancing between the man and the creature with eyes all too close to bursting into tears. “I can’t do it.” Rio said solemnly, “I hurt him and I don’t- I don’t think I can do it.”

“Right, uh, turn away, kid.” Dave reached past Rio and yanked the branch out of the ground, looked down at the pointed end before nodding to himself that he was convinced it was shapr enough. His arm groaned in protest as he hefted the branch up and stepped down hard on the cockatrice’s wing, pinning it in place. It squawked and shrieked as it struggled against him, clawing up his ankle, but it dropped like a marionette with cut strings when Dave drove the branch through its heart. He watched its last, convulsing breaths, and then its shudder, and then it was over. Dave winced as he turned around, taking in the tear tracks on Rio’s face. “You’re alright, scribeling. It’s over now. I would have been mince meat out here if you hadn’t stepped in. Are you hurt?”

What an embarrassment. Orion was supposed to be the one saving Dave, not the other way around. He had come across an injured man in the woods and yet still somehow ended up being the one in peril. “I’m sorry.” Rio crossed his arms in defeat and stared at the ground as Dave grabbed the stick and moved towards the creature. When the creature started screaming, Rio tried to cover his ears. It didn’t stop him hearing, but it blocked out some of the noise. Dave was trying to comfort Rio, make him feel better. They were kind words, but not ones that Rio could accept at the moment. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and straightened back up. “I’m fine. Just a few scratches. I’m really sorry though. I wanted to get you out of here without any more damage. Guess I kinda failed on that mark.”

“Why’re you apologising?” Dave asked, rubbing his eyes. The cuts along his body stung in the cold air, but these sortsa things happened. He looked at the two dead cockatrices, wondering if they all had hatched from the same nest. Wondered if there was more of them coming. He put his hand against another tree, and didn’t feel anything else nearby, but without fog nor rain, it wasn’t that easy. “Hey, hey, c’mon now. You’re shaken up, I get it, but you didn’t control them things. You can’t blame yourself for us getting jumped. We’re alive, that isn’t failing. It’s the opposite.” He pat Orion gruffly on his back, and began walking haltingly them back out of the woods, holding his side where he’d been scratched up. “You’re alright, kid.” Strong as hell too, but Dave didn’t comment on that just yet.

“Sorry. It’s- I don’t know.” Orion rarely had a good reason to apologize. He seemed to be apologetic towards everything. Like being in his presence was inherently a burden. He knew that wasn’t true anymore. He had been around enough kindness and love now to know that he wasn’t uselessly taking up space. Still, the habit was hard to break. “I was supposed to help you. I ended up needing your help.” Rio tried to rationalize his mood, explain the thought process to Dave. Now didn’t seem like a great time. When Dave patted Rio on the back, a small grin began growing across the boy’s face. “Yeah. Sorry. You’re right.” Rio made a quick attempt to pull himself together, slowly walking over to the dead creature and unwrapping his denim jacket from its knotted position around the creature’s head. Probably a goner, but he didn’t want to just leave it tied around the poor creature. “Thank you. For helping. You’re pretty cool too.” Never one to know how to express his emotions normally, Rio opted for a thumbs up to distract from his blushing. “Are you good to walk. You can lean against me while we get you back out of the woods.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong in needing help. I just did.” Dave replied wrily, shaking his head. “Cool, huh?” Dave scoffed with a chuckle, even more tickled by the thumbs up. He took hold of Rio’s arm. “Let’s call this just in case,” he said with a wry smile, slowly walking them out of the woods. He wanted to know more about this strangely strong and strangely innocent Scribling, but covered in blood and in need of sleep was not the best time to ask. “We’re near my van. You good to get yourself home or do you need a ride?”

The walk to his van wasn’t far from where they had been. If things had only been slightly different, perhaps Dave and Orion could have made it without ever having run into those two extra creatures. But as it was, Rio couldn’t change the outcome for this anymore than he could for the troll that had been killed. Was he just supposed to accept this as the circle of life? It was supposed to be natural, but Rio still couldn’t think about it without a pit forming in his stomach. The extra pressure of Dave leaning against him didn’t had too much strain as they finished their journey out of the woods. Rio tried to be extra careful of twigs or roots to make sure he didn’t send them both stumbling, but he had no trouble supporting the man. The selkie was clearly trained to fight, and Rio had no doubt that he was smart enough to know what a hunter was. Rio had played those cards. Yet Dave hadn’t called him on it yet.  “No, I’m not too far from here. I’ll be fine.” Rio signed, pulling his bag off of his back and digging through it. He eventually pulled out a notepad and scribbled his contact information on it before ripping the page free and holding it out to Dave. “Just in case you need anything, let me know okay? It was nice to meet you. Despite all the violence.”

#para #chatzy #rio #medical blood tw #s OFT

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Hey, I had a thought after you responded about the Selkie genetics question, how do the genetics of the various supernatural beings interact? I mean, if lycanthropy can be inherited, will the child of a werewolf and a vampire take after the former or the latter (since we know that vampirism can be inherited from Juleka and her dad), or does it vary depending on the race of the mom, etc.? What about other kinds of monsters? Can a selkie having a non-human dad affect their alt-shape, for example?

...uh

I have no clue

Hmm

Uh

Okay-

Depending on how much of the monster the mom and dad can affect the kid, that or they’re always what the dad is because of dominant genes?? Idk how science works I forgot

Selkies having human dads are really common due to the whole wife cost stealing thing, so other than being a little less animal-ly like they’re mom then there’s not many differences

Uhm.. yeah I don’t know shit- magic

#Other magic au