siiiince you liked the first one I’m hoping you’ll like this? also submitting because asks are a BITCH http://thescyfychannel.tumblr.com/post/140821319878/thescyfychannel-imagine-seadwellers-imagine
A few lazy breaststrokes send you down a corridor you hadn’t explored yet. You find a stretch where the lights aren’t working, and a corner to curl up in. The floor is hard, rough cement, but the tepid water soothes away all the grating closeness burning under your skin, the rasping worries. Though you sleep dreamless and shallow, it is the longest stretch of unbroken sleep you’ve had for a bit. Until something closes tight around your dorsal gills and you cannot breathe.
Catharsis, Arguments, regrets, selfish asshat logic, molting, Alien Biology, alien puberty, Gills, this helped, the author has had a shit month
Of Course Your Stupid Seatroll Boyfriend Misses the Ocean, What Are You, Blind?; EriDave
Eridan misses the ocean.
You’re not sure why it takes you so long to figure out. He’s a fucking seatroll for god’s sake, of course he’d miss the ocean, it was common-fucking-sense that he’d miss salt water and swimming and prancing around like a goddamn mermaid and whatever else seatrolls did underwater.
You’d noticed he’d been spending more time in the bath lately, curling up in the tiny tub that came with your shitty apartment and staying there for hours at a time, racking up your water bill and nearly making himself sick, what with breathing in filtered, chemically treated water. It wasn’t really good for him but he always got this look about him when you came in to drag him out, one that made you feel horribly guilty for making him get up and get dressed, and, most importantly, get warm, because at that point the water was usually freezing.
There were other things too, little things, like the house suddenly smelling like those seasalt candles he collects and typically only lights on special occasions, or his iPod playing a repeat of those shitty relaxation cds with the ocean noises on them. He starts sleeping in the hammock he strung up in the living room instead of in bed with you, and of course you join him without question because you’re stupid and didn’t put any thought to it. It’s only when you catch him hoarding little piles of seashells in the unused cabinet by the fridge and literally popping mouthfuls of sand from the stupid cactus pot you’d ironically purchased that you realize something might not be right.
He's happy with you, exponentially so, and you know that but unless you were doing something unironically mushy, like cuddling or kissing or fucking each other’s brains out, he seemed lackluster, despondent. It made your skin itch, it made you want to make everything better, it made you snappy and irritable because you could not figure out what was wrong or how to fix it, but then it just hit you over the head like a ton of bricks and you felt so utterly, completely stupid, because of course he misses the ocean.
You both live in Houston, just a couple hours away from Corpus Christi, but it takes a few weeks to get enough vacation time off to take the trip. He doesn’t know, of course, it’s supposed to be a surprise, but his three day weekend just so happened to line up with yours, magically (even though, according to him, there’s no such thing as fuckin’ magic, Da’e, and in this case there isn’t because the magic was you calling his boss behind his back) and you bundle him up into your ironically environmentally friendly car and take off with no explanation.
He’s both nervous and happy, you can tell, excited because of the trip and wary because you have a tendency to spring the most random things on him, from dinner dates to laser tag. That was a fun day, even if you did get your ass so soundly whooped that it stung for days. You still think hiding in a corner and sniping people from behind obstacles is cheating, for the record.
But either way, he’s in the passenger seat and you get a front row ticket to the way his face slowly brightens, lighting up when he finally begins to realize what’s going on. Even you can smell the salt in the air when he turns to you, eyes slightly watery, and says, “Da’e, are we…?”
You nod, and he almost runs you off the road when he throws his arms around you, hugging you so tightly you think you hear ribs creak. He buries his face in your shoulder and thanks you almost feverishly, over and over until you separate one hand from the steering wheel and pet over his horns in a way you know will calm him down.
“You looked like you been missing the water,” you say, feeling, for some reason, suddenly awkward, almost tongue tied, and it might have something to do with the way he’s looking up at you with shiny, adoring eyes, “Called up your boss, got our days off aligned, thought you could use a little vacation…”
Your accent alwas gets thicker when you’re embarrassed, and the adorable, glubby little purr he gives you in response is, if not embarrassing, then definitely too cute for you to listen to with a straight, non-blushing face. You can hardly take the way he’s nuzzling against you without pulling over to the side of the road and kissing him, but, with herculean effort, you resist. You’re only a few miles out from an almost empty spot of beach, now, the same one your Bro used to take you to when it got too hot in the city for either of you to stand, where the waves were a bit too rough for standard tourists and beachgoers and the winds a bit too unpredictable for most surfers.
Eridan’s out of the car like a shot as soon as you put it in park, streaking across the hot sand and plopping into the narrow bar where the sea touches the shore, rolling in it like an overeager puppy. It’s utterly ridiculous, the way he doesn’t give a single shit about his clothes or his hair or his appearance when faced with the joys of salt and water and sun, and your heart gives a little jump in your chest when he turns his face back to you and smiles, the expression terribly beautiful for its rarity.
You let him roll around as you unpack the supplies- food, firewood, a small tent and basic camping materials- and when you get set up, you strip to your swim trunks and step into the wet sand next to him, shivering at the feel of it between your toes.
“You’re amazin,” he says breathlessly, laughing and flicking a sandy lock of hair out of his face, “Absolutely amazin, I lo’e you so fuckin much, you ha’e no idea.”
You shrug and smile, giving him a hand up, and you both step further into the tide together. He’s practically vibrating, earfins flicking this way and that, tracking the sound of the water and the gulls and the soft whisper of the breeze, and before you know it you’re both waist deep. It's there that he hesitates, shoulders stiff, almost like he’s bracing himself for something, and you don’t like the dark cast his face has taken so you reach out and shove him, dodging his flailing attempts to grab you for balance.
It takes him a long enough time to come up for air that you almost start to worry, but then something grabs you by the ankles and pulls your feet out from underneath you, sending you crashing into the next wave, sputtering saltwater and pawing your trashed hair out of your face. His head pops out right after, eyes wide, a thin, filmy tint stretching over the vibrant purple irises, and he glubs, high and shocked.
“The wwater’s so clean,” he says, and you watch the sensory frills on the side of his neck flutter, colours shifting, “It- it doesn’t hurt at all, it’s perfect, oh my god, Da’e, it’s perfect-“ and he tackles you back into the ocean and kisses you breathless, hands flung around your shoulders.
“Woah, wait a second, hurt? You never said anything about water hurting-“
He kisses you silent again, face flushed, and for the next minute, every time you try to speak he presses your lips together, not letting you get another word out. You’re at a standoff, he staring at your lips, just waiting for them to move, you biding your time until the right moment and- there.
You duck and catch him in the gut with your shoulder, tossing him forward and both of you are swept to shore with the waves, rolling and tumbling till your backs meet the grit and grind of the beach. He’s laughing, staring up at the sky and digging his fingers in the sand when the tide tries to drag him out again, and when you roll over on top of him, he giggles and smiles up at you, second eyelids blinking lazily.
“Ok, no, you said something about water hurting, has the water been hurting you because-“
“Shush, Da’e,” he says, tone light and easy, “T’wwas back on Alternia, dunno wwhy I wwasn't expectin' it to be diff'rent here.”
He splashes you in the face and you sputter, but push him deeper into the wet sand, clawing it up and burying him in it like your brother used to do when you were being a little shit.
“I’m not lettin’ you go till you explain,” you say, smirking as first his arm, then shoulder gets covered in sticky sediment, “I will cover you in this crap, no lie, so get talkin’ before you’re nothin’ but a head.”
You know with utter certainty that this will not be an obstacle for him in the slightest, that he can and will shove you off as soon as he’s good and ready, but it’s been a long time for you, too, and it’s fun. It’s bright and hot and everything is just right, and if you wanna play around like five year olds, well, it’s not like anyone’s watching.
“Alternia’s seas wwere not treated wwell,” he says, voice dipping into the cadence of a storyteller as he allows you to dump sand over his body, “T’wwas a dark place, filled wwith toxic chemicals an’ poison wwaste, an’ only the strongest could afford to li'e near it. That’s wwhy seadwwellers are considered so strong, you knoww, because wwe wwere the only ones capable’a li'in’ on the bouty'a the sea. The water wwas so caustic it burned to the touch, and t’breathe it wwas e’en wworse, let me tell you.”
He giggles when you daub sand on his nose, breaking the somber mood he’d set up with his tale, much to his dismay. He was always mad when you ‘ruined th’ atmosphere wwith your silly antics’, but you can’t help it; he just looks so kissable, so cute, when he’s focused on something, and damn, you are a lucky sunovabitch.
“T’wwas much wworse for me an’ my ilk, a’course,” he continues, watching curiously as you mold the sand into shapes, “Tropical breeds like me're much more sensiti'e t’ water changes than deep seagoers like Fef. ’S wwhy I didn’t swwim much, back then.”
You love how he says, back then, or on Alternia, and never back home. You grin at him, and he smiles back, shark teeth gleaming in the light, and you can see how his muscles twitch, resisting the urge to reach out to you and ruin all your work.
“The water here’s good though, right? Doesn’t hurt? Cause if it does then we can find something else to do, somewhere else to go, we don’t have to stay here-“
He does sit up, then, which is really too sad because you thought the seashell bra you’d molded over his chest was quite stunning. You forgive him when he pulls you close and kisses you, rubbing his cheek against yours when you have to stop and catch your breath.
“It’s brilliant,” he says, all soft like, with this doe-eyed expression that makes him look utterly fucking adorable, and you bop your forehead against his, licking the spiracle under one of his eyes when he squeals at you.
“Ok then, Ariel, as long as you’re sure,” and then he looks down at the sandy mess you’ve made of his legs and notices that yes, you did in fact mold them into a mermaid tail, with little scales and fins and everything. He doesn’t appreciate your hard work as much as he should, and with barely a twitch of his muscles sand goes flying everywhere, splattering you and the surrounding area.
“Oh no, here Da’e, let me help you clean off,” he simpers, wide eyes innocent, but when the second eyelids flick over his irises you know you’re about to get dumped back in the water, and, of course, you are.
He swims around you like, well, a fish, happily staying below water for minutes at a time, but he comes up for kisses because he knows you’re worrying. You can’t really help it though, it’s weird not to think of it as him potentially drowning, not that he actually can, what with the whole gills thing and all.
In the end, you get tired of the water far faster than he does, and you retreat to the dry spot you’d dumped all your stuff, setting up camp. The fire pit is easy, the tent is easier, and by nightfall you have a roaring little cook fire going in your nice, neat campsite, ready and waiting for whatever you decide to roast over it.
He comes gliding in like the creature from the black lagoon soon after, the photophores littering his body like your freckles litter yours glowing in happiness.
“T’is the best surprise e’er, Da’e,” he says, draping himself over you and cuddling close, skin cold and damp and perfect after the oppressive heat of the fire, “I lo’e you.”
“I love you too,” you say, popping a marshmallow into his mouth when he goes in for a kiss, laughing at the confused expression on his face, “Food before snogging, you’ve been burning calories all day.”
It’s nothing special, just hotdogs on sticks over the fire and slightly crushed bags of doritos, but he stares at you adoringly like you’re the only thing in his life worth paying attention to, chirring and cooing for you as you feed him bits of meat and junk food. He goes back out into the water after dinner, but with the way he’s glowing you can track him now, watch as he speeds along the waves and leaps and plays like a wild thing, whooping and hollering and so undignified you almost can’t associate this new side of Eridan with the snobby, secretive side you’ve gotten to know so well.
He’s smiled more at you in the past few hours than he has in months, and you’re made aware that yes, smiling is an expression he’s actually capable of, and it doesn’t pain him to contort his face into such unfamiliar shapes. He’s happy, laughing and carefree and happy in a way that you don’t think you’ve ever seen him, and for a moment you are horribly, irrationally jealous of the ocean. Then you realize the ocean is an inanimate object and probably not hellbent on stealing your boyfriend from you, and being jealous of inanimate objects is not cool or ironic in the slightest.
It’s near midnight when he finally drags himself in, exhausted and panting for air but wildly, fiercely happy, hair tangled and salt crusted, all clothing long abandoned in a pile outside the perimeter of your campground. The skin along his waist gleams white in the soft light of the fire, but for once, he doesn’t seem self conscious of his scars; it’s like, for the first time since you’d met him, he couldn’t give a single shit what anyone else thought of him, and it makes him radiant.
You feel stupid, waxing poetic about your silly seatroll boyfriend, but it’s true, it’s so true; he glows, literally and figuratively, inside and out. He’s beautiful, feral and untamed in the best of ways, and god, he’s so fucking happy that you feel like your heart is going to spill right out of your chest. You don’t even notice you’re clutching at our shirt until he crawls into your lap, sticky with sand and salt but still sp fucking perfect, and he asks, “Are you alright?”
“I love you,” is all you say in response, and you kiss him, and it’s perfect, and you never want it to end.
You’re glad you still have three more days of vacation time and enough food to last a week.
[...] And then the seadweller repeats the motion, a low click that her ears perceive as coming from someplace around his final rib. If he has such a thing, because once she's seen them up-close she realizes with some strange certainty that his rib cage is not flat to his spine like a humans, rather it juts outwards, almost a perfect pointed oval, nearing that of a dog. Or perhaps a fish would be a better parallel. And maybe his ribs are cartilage instead of bone to make that shape possible. [...]
[…] And then the seadweller repeats the motion, a low click that her ears perceive as coming from someplace around his final rib. If he has such a thing, because once she’s seen them up-close she realizes with some strange certainty that his rib cage is not flat to his spine like a humans, rather it juts outwards, almost a perfect pointed oval, nearing that of a dog. Or perhaps a fish would be a better parallel. And maybe his ribs are cartilage instead of bone to make that shape possible. […]
