Just a little Doumeki/Yashiro mermaid AU ficlet that is completely based on @flabbergastedboatwoman‘s amazing fanart. Of course it is dedicated to her because she’s super-talented and gives me saezuru feels.
Doumeki woke up to the sound of the ocean and the squawk of
seagulls. One side of his face was planted in sand and his head felt like it was
full of rocks, the noise assaulting him. Pushing up into a sitting position he dizzily
wiped the grit from his cheek, squinting into the sun as water lapped at his sodden
How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the
storm, how fast it turned the world dark, faster than the crew
could ready the ship. Blinded by wind and rain he’d been knocked overboard at
some point, his sister’s face the last thing on his mind as he went under,
swallowing too much water.
Something touched him and he jumped, eyes going wide as it
settled across his legs.
He’d heard the tales; long nights on deck with nothing but whiskey
and the ocean had loosened sailors’ tongues and sometimes they spoke in hushed
tones of sirens and mermen, as if even mentioning their existence could bring
about doom. Doumeki doubted the doom part because the merman in his lap was stunningly
beautiful and something so lovely could not bring catastrophe.
He should have been afraid but instead he was captivated.
It was close, so close that Doumeki could see streaks of grey
and green in its hazel eyes, could smell the salt on its pale glistening skin. Entranced,
he tried to capture every bit of motion, from the distractingly lazy smile to
the toss of sunlit hair to the deft long-fingered hands that clung to his
thighs. A shimmering turquoise tail fluttered where legs should be, an enticing
roll of muscle that curled up at the end, mirroring the merman’s interest, and
by the expression on its face, it was very interested.
Doumeki took in a sharp breath as one of those sensuous
hands slid down to cup his cock, molding it through his soaked pants.
“You washed up on the wrong shore, cute sailor,”
its voice was like drops of music, ripples on a pond, and as Doumeki’s heart
lurched, his soul unwinding and reaching for the creature, he knew.
He knew that even though he’d survived the storm and the sea,
he would never survive this.
A Mermaid!Snowbaz AU! This is a joint collaboration with @ismill, she’s done the AMAZING illustrations for the story which you can find at the end of each chapter!
I felt the waves moving and crashing around me like a lullaby. It rushed in my ears, filling my insides and comforting me. It wrapped around my arms and slipped through my veins like blood.
I smiled, my eyes closed as I let the current play with me for a bit, twisting my tail about like the ocean wanted to dance with me. It was a pulse, a heartbeat I could hear pounding all around.
Words were useless, in my opinion, when you had water. Water didn’t need words, but people understood it better than they understood themselves. It’s so beautiful, if people just stopped to look.
I was deep down underneath the surface, far deeper than I dared bring Penny. Sometimes she insisted on being escorted though the waters, holding onto my fin, even when it was cold, but it was much too cold for a land dweller. It was frigid, the dark water capable of turning Penny’s blood into icy sludge.
Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long to get out to you guys! Thank you for all of the feedback and encouragement, it seriously mean a lot so THANK YOU!
Rowan Whitethorn counted the minutes as he strode through the soggy streets of Adarlan beside his uncle. Throughout their lunch Rowan had difficulty keeping focus on the information his uncle was sharing about the meetings held earlier that day. He damned himself for the split attention, but could neither quit thinking about Aelin and the task that lay before her, nor confess to his uncle the cause of his distraction.
It’s approaching midday and we’re trundling along a bumpy, unsealed red dirt track on Bathurst Island, 100 kilometres north of Darwin, with the temperature quickly soaring into the mid-30s.
Inside a twin cab that’s seen better days, with air-conditioning ducts that pump more fine red dust into the car than cold air, there is a cacophony of laughing, teasing, and trading of community gossip. Five sistergirls, transgender Aboriginal people traditionally known in the Tiwi Islands as yimpininni, are giving BuzzFeed News a tour of their island home.
While transgender people are found across many of Australia’s Indigenous communities, the Tiwi Islands has probably the largest sistergirl population in the country – and certainly the most famous one.
There are roughly 2,500 people living in the Tiwi Islands, comprised of Bathurst Island and Melville Island, and the sistergirls say there are currently around 80 yimpininni.
Pandanus trees whisk by with their long, crooked leaves reaching toward earth at sharp right angles. The red earth gives way to soft powdery sand, and the smell of the ocean engulfs the car followed shortly by the stickiness of salt water blowing in from the Arafura Sea. Sweet relief from the staggering heat.
We stop at the foot of a dune and suddenly the frenzied laughter comes to an abrupt end as all the sistergirls begin loudly yelling out in the Tiwi language. They say they’re letting the spirits of their ancestors know that we are coming on to country to ensure that no harm comes to the group or to me, a stranger. It’s a moment that perfectly highlights the profound connection to country and culture that the people of Tiwi have.
After the whooping, we walk onwards and are confronted with a stunning, vast swath of empty beach with shimmering turquoise water lapping at our feet. The sistergirls agree it’s the perfect backdrop for a photo shoot and happily strut their stuff for the camera, posing and pouting, legs akimbo, fierce face on. Their only concern is the saltwater crocodiles that lurk in the waters around the island.
Between poses Laura Orsto, 31, says she told her parents that she was a sistergirl in primary school. “Age 10 I knew I was a sistergirl. It was really, really, very hard for me to come out because my parents are really strict and didn’t want me to be out there as a sistergirl. They wanted me to be saved,” she says.
As a 16-year-old, Orsto began living her life as a female and had to “fight and fight and battle hard to be accepted”. In remote Indigenous communities being transgender often means defying rigidly observed cultural practices defined by male and female gender roles. In many cases it also means having to defy strictly held religious beliefs common in many Indigenous communities.
It was an older yimpininni who gave Orsto courage and strength as she came to terms with living life as a woman. “There were plenty of sistergirls back then; I used to go out with them and talk about things, like how to act like girls you know and be ladylike. One lady, I use to call her Mum, she was like a mother to me, and she told me, ‘You just have to be who you want to be, baby, just like me. I’m always here for you, you got me here.’”
This woman, who gave so much strength to the sistergirl community, would tragically go on to kill herself.
Orsto says the death took a deep emotional toll and she contemplated suicide herself, but ultimately triumphed over her personal demons. Today Orsto is a much-loved and respected member of the community. “I love to talk to everyone, and everyone has been nice to me and they don’t put me down, they put me up the top. Everyone says, ‘Wow, you have a nice personality, Miss Laura,’” Orsto said.
We make our way back to the car and head into town. As we travel the small roads that snake through the dense scrub that blankets the island, the sistergirls occasionally point out various ceremonial sites and traditional campgrounds.
Suddenly we’re out of the bush and on to the bitumen as we enter Wurrumiyanga, the main township on Bathurst Island. The wide streets intersect large blocks full of colourfully painted brick homes. Windows rolled down, the sistergirls intermittently yell out at people walking alongside the roads, making plans for later and asking where people are. The twin cab then swings into the local cemetery, an arid, dusty graveyard dotted with sparse trees. Rising from the mounds of earth are decorative Pukumani poles, traditional funerary poles that are sculpted and painted to honour the dead. Also known as tutini, the poles form part of an ancient Tiwi ceremony to ensure the spirit leaves the body.
Nyarli Kerinaiua, 34, points out two graves adorned with beautiful tutinis reaching for the sky, covered in intricate ornate Tiwi design. After a heavy silence there’s a slow stream of softly spoken Tiwi from each sistergirl, their sentences flowing into each other as they pay respects to the dead and tell the sistergirls who are buried here that they are not forgotten.
Both had killed themselves 15 years ago. “It was really sad because we didn’t have any support back then. It was a bit of an aggressive ride,” says Kerinaiua as she straightens a bunch of plastic flowers on one of the graves.
After the suicides, Kerinaiua and around 30 sistergirls attended a community meeting and demanded acceptance for transgender people.
Sistergirl Vivian Warlapinni, 31, remembers the meeting as a pivotal turning point for equality within the community.
Kerinaiua says that the fight for acceptance has largely been won and the biggest issue now is ensuring future generations of sistergirls are able to easily access resources.
The sistergirls pile back into the twin cab and soon we’re at a local water hole. The day is coming to an end and a water monitor swims across the crystal-clear water triumphantly holding a fat prawn in its mouth. One of the sistergirls takes out a chunk of ochre collected near the beach and begins to carefully break it, pounding it into fine powder on a piece of cardboard on a picnic bench. Carefully she adds water and the dusty powder becomes a rich, thick paste. A small twig is broken off a nearby tree and dipped into the paste, and Orsto begins to use it as eyeliner, methodically working the twig across her eyelids, carefully revealing a bright orange tint.
Fluttering her eyes she says, “I want to start hormone therapy. I really want to have this transition. I just hate that I am this girl trapped in a boy’s body. She’s been trapped in there for a long long time and she really wants to come out and be a real lady.”
However, the choice to leave her community, after fighting for and winning acceptance, is a difficult decision to make. Faced with the prospect of traveling thousands of kilometres for treatment in the city, where Orsto feels discrimination is a very real reality, she says she’ll remain in her Tiwi home for the moment, surrounded by family and friends: “I am a lady of the community and I am accepted as that. This is my home and I love it.”
Also, all Moroccan wedding traditions are based on the one I attended this January (which was probably one of the most fun weddings I’ve ever been to!) and talks with one my Moro besties ~
Yousef, Adam, Mutasim and Elias waited as Raidah, the bride, dressed in a white caftan with matching jewelry, sat down gracefully in the large chair called “the Amariya.” Her groom Hameed sat down on the second Amariya where Mikael and three other boys were standing.
The young men lifted the chairs and walked towards the hall. As the doors parted and they entered, loud music and applause greeted them. The song “Dirou Hara Ye Lebnat” blasted from the speakers as the bride and groom waved from their elevated positions. The boys carried them to the stage and set down the Amariyas. As they descended everyone clapped again and Yousef suddenly noticed one particularly radiant guest.
Sana was smiling broadly as she swayed to the music, wearing a turquoise kaftan and a shimmering purple hijab with it. Her berry lips sang along with Jalal El Hamdaoui as the wedding song came to a close.
Yousef sighed at how beautiful she looked. As the next song began he started to make his way to her, not really sure what he was gonna say but just needing to be near her.
He was a few feet away from her when a young man tapped her on the shoulder. Sana turned around and yelped in surprise.
“Khalid?!” she exclaimed.
“Sanaaaa!” he replied with a grin. He was tall and lean, with hazel eyes and a dark brown hair.
“What are you doing here?” Yousef heard her say.
“I moved back to Norway. I actually returned just last week. After finishing University in Berlin, I decided it’s best for me to come home since job opportunities in my field are better here.”
“I can’t believe it. Wow, it’s been so long!” There was a warmth in her voice that made Yousef frown.
“Wow indeed. Last I saw you was in Sister Khadijah’s after school Quran class. Do you remember how we used to have competitions on who could memorize the Surahs faster?”
“I won most of the time.” She said smugly.
“Yeah right! If I recall correctly, she always praised me for being her brightest pupil.”
“Only cause you were such a teacher’s pet! Like that time with the pink vase? Who does that?”
Whatever the “pink vase” meant, it made Khalid crack up and Sana joined him, both laughing together at the old inside joke.
After their laughter died down, Khalid said, “But seriously Sana, it’s so nice to see you again. You look…amazing.”
Sana’s eyes widened for a moment at the open compliment, before she smiled and replied, “Thank you. It’s great to see you too! And the beard suits you.” She added at the end and Khalid’s face lit up at that.
Yousef retreated back a few steps, those old feelings of jealousy and inadequacy filling his heart again.
His expression must’ve been especially sad because Mutasim bumped into him and asked, “Why the long face buddy?”
He shook his head and said “nothing” as he moved away from Sana and her ‘friend’.
He glanced back at them one last time over his shoulder. Heads bent low, shoulders almost touching, and hands covering their mouths are they whispered stories he would never get to be a part of.
Yousef turned around and joined his friends, shaking away his thoughts and putting on a fake smile.
Request: Can you do an imagine where Y/N shows some (harmless!) Muggle Pranks to George (or Fred). He then proceeds to prank her all week.
This is easily the weirdest letter I’ve ever sent home. It ended with “Oh and by the way, could you please send over that box full of those stupid pranks from when I was little? You know the blue one with the whoopee cushion and the snap gum and all that? Thanks Mum, love you!”
You were best friends with the Weasley Twins, Fred and George. They’re always pulling crazy pranks on anyone and everyone they can, but they’re wizards, they don’t even know the basics. I feel like a middle aged man complaining about the youth…
You weren’t as great at pranking as Fred and George were, but you were going to have a few new tricks up your sleeve soon enough.
“You’ll never suspect our pranks when they hit you!” Fred and George had both said to you in unison just yesterday when they got you. They had somehow managed to make your skin a shimmering, turquoise green, and refused to give you the antidote until you told them how great they were.
Let’s see how great you’ll be when I’m done!
“Post is here!” Seamus called from the other end of the table, as about twenty owls flew into the Great Hall that morning, one of which carrying a large blue box.
“Thanks, O.V,” You say as you scratch your owl behind the head. You had named him Owlivander but felt like the name was a bit stupid, so now he’s known as O.V.
“What did you score, Y/n?” Fred asked as he nudges your side, eyeing the large blue box,
“Looks interesting, go ahead and open it!” George says excitedly at your other side,
“Now now boys, settle down,” you say as you pick up the box, “It’s a surprise,” and with that you went back up to the Gryffindor common room with the blue parcel under your arm, ready to put your items to good use.
For quite some time, George has had a crush on you, and you on him, yet neither of you have done anything about it. You knew that he would be back from Quidditch practice any moment now, and he was bound to take a seat next to you.
“Great job guys, Ravenclaw don’t stand a chance!” Oliver said to his team happily, who all cheered in response, before they packed away their equipment and went their separate ways.
“Mind if I take a seat, m’lady?” a familiar voice asks you from behind the couch,
“Not at all, Georgie, be my guest,” you say, trying to sound as neutral as possible.
“So, how are you—“
As he sat down, a loud, classic fart noise emitted from under him. The entire room went dead silent, all eyes fixed on poor George, who had the look of absolute terror on his face, staring at you in panic. You looked at him for a few moments, trying to look as uncomfortable as possible,
“Dude what the actual fuck,” Fred said from the other side of the room,
“I swear that was not me” he said, dead serious. Now people were beginning to laugh, and poor old George was looking terrified.
“Well it bloody wasn’t her was it,” Fred gestured to you, now starting to join in on the laughter.
You felt bad for making everyone think that he had just cracked one off, but you weren’t done yet. When everyone was (finally) over it, you decided to make your next move.
You went up to the boys’ dormitory, and found just who you were looking for,
“Hey Harry, can I ask you a quick favour?” You ask politely,
“Yeah sure, whatcha need?” he asked from his spot on the bed,
“I need to borrow your Invisibility Cloak, it’s to get George back,”
Harry laughed, “By all means, if it’s to get at least one of them back for all their jokes it’s fine by me, it’s over there in my trunk, should be towards the bottom,”
“Thanks Harry!” you say happily as you grab the cloak.
For some reason, it never occurred to George to look under his seat. As you went over to the couch, you retrieved the whoopee cushion and inflated it again.
Now, George was standing at the other side of the room with Fred and Lee, as well as a few other people scattered around, too.
You made sure to position yourself behind him, placing one hand on either side of the balloon,
“I don’t know guys, maybe I should go and talk to Y/n and try and explain what happened…”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” George yelled as he spun around to look behind him, obviously not seeing anyone.
Again, everyone had turned around to see the culprit of the fart, George, looking twice as confused as before, with Fred and Lee backing away from him, their hands over their noses and mouths,
“Merlin’s Beard mate, you’ve gotta get your arse sorted out because that’s just wrong,” Fred said, laughing and still covering his face,
“It looks like every time you think about Y/n, you go and crack one off!” Lee added between giggles,
“I’M NOT DOING IT!” George cried out.
You couldn’t hold it in any longer (your laughter, not a fart). You burst out laughing from under the Invisibility Cloak, buckled over and holding your sides.
George looks behind him, still in a state of panic, and starts to grab at the air until he grabs the cloak and pulls it off you.
You were well and truly crying now. You stood up to look at George, his face of shock and yours stained with tears of laughter,
“George! You should have! Seen! Your face!” You say as you continue to laugh, and you throw the whoopee cushion to him.
George looked down at the empty balloon, with a picture of someone farting on it. George’s face slowly changed from shock to amusement, realising that you had well and truly pranked him, all with only a noisy pink balloon. He wasn’t embarrassed or annoyed anymore, he was proud.
Once you had calmed down (the odd giggle every now and then), you explained to him that it was a Muggle toy used to prank people with, and George became very fascinated.
I tried to recreate Lady Fancy Nails beautiful mani she did for Cirque Colors new Burlesque Collection. I loved her design so much. She used ‘Harlow’ from the burlesque Collection. I used a franken I made using Color Club 'Kismet’ and Color Club 'Over The Moon’ To give it an underlying turquoise shimmer.
Gone is the grey, gone are the northern winds. At long last the frost has set in, revealing the sky in its clearest shade of celestial blue. The world seems to be smiling again. I walked the lands in the typical calm of a Sunday morning. Silent roads, except for the few good people walking their dogs. I was alone when it happened. Gazing over the fields, I was suddenly awe-struck by the white of frost covering the plains of grass. The astonishing shade of bluish green, now embellishing the earth, could only be caused by the sky’s reflection. It was all so pure and wonderful. I let my eyes glide over the vast open territory, all the way to the horizon. There, where the pale of bluish green met and blended with the dark shaded blue of dawn’s sky, breaking through the distant trees, I saw the beauty of your viridian eyes. For a while, nature almost mesmerized me as much as you would do with a single glance. And I was grateful to be alive to bask in this short-lived moment. Finally I was able to paint with words the image of your eyes in all their changing hues, from grey to greenish blue; from viridian all the way to that most vivid celestial. Everything I saw in your eyes was captured in that moment where I gazed over the frost covered fields. Ultimately gazing into nothingness; letting my vision blur to capture the entire panorama of all this splendor. Truly, a breathtaking moment. Often have I compared your eyes to the North Sea’s aquamarine, but you were never a type to embody water, besides, the North Sea is far too green. I tried catching your gaze in turquoise agate crystals, shimmering in broken volcanic stones. But their sparkle is too dependent of light, and though I find them captivating, the rocks are dead and cold. I have looked for you during spring and summer, where a deep shade of sky blue adorns the heavens. Close to my heart, this vibrant hue, but no – it never was you. All this time I was looking in the wrong places, and never could I have expected to find you during this season. You were always warm and passionate; sun-kissed skinned, a summer child. Or perhaps a child of spring, seeing your jubilant, lively walk of life; the way the world seemed to come in full bloom, simply by the virtue of your smile. Never would I have expected to find your gaze in winter. Yet here you are truly, on a calm Sunday morning at the first day of frost. Clearing the skies and making the world seem pure again; chasing away the northern winds and making me feel warm when I most need it. Here, at the border between heaven and earth, I found you. It couldn’t have been any other way, could it? I am grateful, and I sigh, blessed by this moment where I felt your presence.
“My favorite color is blue.”
“I said my favorite color is blue.”
“Where the hell did that come from, shitty glasses?”
“I simply felt like saying it. Blue is the color of the sky and supposedly the color of the ocean. It makes me dream of the world outside the walls and a life with no titans.”
“I thought you would cry in a world with no titans.”
“With no titans to study I would just observe the world itself, along with other creatures, and the ocean.”
“Why the hell do you even have a favorite color when we could die any day?”
“For just that reason, I could die at any moment so might as well die with a favorite color.”
“I knew you would say that. But next time you see blue just look at it for a moment and maybe you can see why I like it so much.”
But he did. As he walked through a field one day to clear his head he passed a cluster of flowers. Then he hesitated, before bending down and peering at a small blue flower.
It had beautiful shades of azure, turquoise, and aqua, all shimmering and glistening in the sunlight.
Carefully folding his fingers around its delicate stem, he plucked it from the earth.
Turning around, he headed back towards where Hanji was, flower in hand.
All right, gang here’s another ficlet from my GF starved brain lol. I’m honestly on a roll here - got more in the works, I think!
This is set a month into the Stan’s big trip after the show’s finale, and they’ve made their way to the Mediterranean on a stopover to recuperate. Being on a boat is hard work for two old grunkles, so now’s a good time to relax, as well as getting things off of chests!