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Digital Dice Roll: Unmasking the Magic of Online Lotteries
In the digital realm where every pixel holds the promise of adventure, online lotteries unfold as the magical dice of the internet, inviting players to roll the virtual dice of destiny. Beyond the allure of life-changing jackpots, online lotteries captivate participants with the thrill of uncertainty and the convenience of a click. This blog post delves into the enchanting world of online lotteries, unmasking the magic that turns each digital dice roll into a potential game-changer.
The Pixelated Gateway: Online lotteries serve as a pixelated gateway, ushering players into a realm where the mundane transforms into the extraordinary. With a simple click, participants step through the digital door, leaving behind the constraints of physical ticket purchases. The allure lies in the seamless transition from reality to the pixelated landscape of chance.
Variety, Unveiled: In the realm of online lotteries, variety is the magical cloak that shrouds every game. From the classic charm of number draws to the whimsical appeal of themed lotteries, participants navigate through a tapestry of choices. Each roll of the digital dice unveils a new and exciting possibility, adding an element of surprise and discovery to the online lottery experience.
Clicks of Convenience: The magic of online lotteries is amplified by the spell of convenience. No longer bound by the constraints of time or location, players can indulge in the excitement with the mere click of a button. This convenience, akin to a magician's sleight of hand, transforms the lottery into a digital spectacle accessible from the comfort of one's own space.
Technological Wizardry: Behind the digital curtain, technological wizardry safeguards mi Fantasy 5 the integrity of online lotteries. Blockchain ensures a transparent draw, encryption shields sensitive data, and secure payment gateways stand guard against digital adversaries. This technological ensemble not only ensures the security of participants but also contributes to the mysterious allure of online lotteries.
Instant Marvel: Online lotteries bring the magic of instant marvel to the forefront. Unlike traditional draws that demand patience, online platforms deliver results in real-time. Notifications materialize like digital apparitions, and result checks unfold in the blink of an eye, keeping participants enthralled with the instant magic of the digital dice roll.
The Arcane Art of Responsible Play: While the allure of the digital dice roll is undeniably enchanting, responsible play becomes the guiding wand in this magical journey. Setting limits, understanding the odds, and approaching the lottery as a form of entertainment rather than a guaranteed outcome are the keys to maintaining a harmonious relationship with the enchanting world of online lotteries.
As you step into the digital arena of online lotteries, may each click be accompanied by the magic of uncertainty and the thrill of possibility. Unmask the secrets of the digital dice roll responsibly, and let the enchantment of online lotteries be a spellbinding journey through the realms of chance. May your clicks reveal the magic you seek, and may the digital dice roll in your favor!
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committing yaoi crimes
#dungeon meshi#kabumisu#kabru#mithrun#my art#squeezing them in my hands like stress toys and whacking them against the table. i like them#i drew the first 3 with like a modern fantasy au thing in mind for some reason#laois right before committing another microagression: Urethra!#he tried to be an ally 5 injured hundreds dead
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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]
Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k
Summary: 'Rule 27: Itâs a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'
WARNING for some descriptions of violence
[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]
Youâd first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasnât like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.
It was the first ship youâd ever seen up closeâsleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that youâd wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so youâd been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.
The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was⌠not like that.
It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didnât feel lived in. Sure, Riddleâd had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didnât whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your bootsâas if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt⌠empty. Lonely.
The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the shipâs hull. That alone was strange. Youâd been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.
You remembered your Sirenâs vicious, pointed smirkâred, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glassâand fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.
When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression wasâwith how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, youâd told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.
He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.
âMy name is Neige Leblanche, and Iâll be taking care of you for this journey.â
You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because youâd never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.
And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.
âRule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.â
The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (âUgly,â heâd complained, bitter. âHow am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.â), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadnât thought much of it until youâd had to cut a hangmanâs noose from around your idiot, foxy friendâs throatâthe handiwork of the tavern folk heâd been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished youâd left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.
Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.
âNice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.â
Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ânone of that! None of that!â before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.
âIt was my honor,â he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. âItâs the duty of all officers to help those in need.â
Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?
Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. âNot safeâ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didnât know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of⌠Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.
Another note was pressed into your hands.
âHow did you end up stranded on that island?â
Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.
You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far tooâ) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasnât it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And youâd be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandeeâs family being hunted for sport just after heâd finally managed to make his way home again.
So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.
âI fell overboard,â you said, firm. âBecause Iâm an idiot.â
He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ââŚohâ shaping his lips.
He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.
âIâm sorry.â
âNever apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,â you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.
You shrugged.
âJust a rule I was supposed to follow,â you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. âThough when youâre the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.â
Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.
Another note.
âIâll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and Iâll get it sorted personally.â
You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed youâd ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.
You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that youâd brought your shell.
.
.
The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was âNeige.â It had been signed on the bottom of the note heâd left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name youâd ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasnât exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.
You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.
You plucked the first from its placeâthe duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the skyâforever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.
Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of wayâa memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadnât noticed it before, what with the echoes of ânot safe, not safe, not safeâ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails. All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallionsâhooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.
You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadnât set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.
You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.
You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.
.
.
âIâm sorry I havenât been around more often, thereâs some business Iâve been having to take care of.â
You handed the note back with a shrug.
âItâs no bother.â
Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.
âDo you mind if I ask you something?â
You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.
âYeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.â
Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.
âWhere were you headed? When you fell overboard?â
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped inâ
Ahem.
You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attackâto pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. Youâd been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and nowânow you just couldnât.
âI donât know where we were going,â you lied, and Neigeâs brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. âBut,â you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, âI know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.â
He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as itâd settled there.
He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.
âThank you for being so helpful. I know it canât be easy.â
Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.
âSure thing.â
He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.
âItâs a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,â it said, âbut it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.â
Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.
âItâs a hare,â you said, without much thought. âNot a heron.â
Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.
That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that youâd never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.
âWhatâs the occasion?â you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside youâa cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.
He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.
âFor helping the hare.â
.
.
Neige didnât come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.
You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddleâs orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasnât quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.
The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.
Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors aboveâstrung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had heâ
A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neigeâs soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it allâfine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.
ââdanger to those who ventureâ'
ââfor the safety of the peopleââ
ââtherefore, the decision has been madeâ'
ââwith the greatest considerationââ
ââwith immediate effectâ'
ââwe have declared the extermination ofâ'
âYou canât!â you wailed, and Neigeâs doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. âHeâsâheâs not bad. I swear! I know how things lookâandâand I know heâs notâthatâs heâs aâbut you canâtââ
Neigeâs wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one wordâdelicate brows pinching in question.
âHe?â
You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didnât even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one wasâhe was special, and youâd be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because heâd maybe eaten a few people. Andâ
There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighborâs carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.
âWhat?â you snapped, and he tapped again. âMe? What about me?â
He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.
Oh.
Oh.
You remembered the pins youâd dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.
Something like, say, Pyroxeneâs Royal Naval Fleet.
You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.
âFor the Crime of Piracyâ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.
ââŚah,â you blinked. âThat makes a lot more sense.â
.
.
You were to walk the plank on the âmorrow.
Which honestly, you hadnât even thought was really a Thingâwalking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.
But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that.Â
Your hands would be bound at your back and youâd be given three breaths, three steps, and then youâd be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that youâd patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldnât be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.
You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate youâd wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when youâd first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island youâd found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence youâd known before. Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew youâd never see again.
If given the choice between the two, youâd take the plank.
.
Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily.Â
When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.
âUnclench yourself,â you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. âItâs not the end of the world. Youâre just doing your job, right? If weâd met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. Allâs fair.â
He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.
He said something under his breath, something that youâd bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldnât have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.
âYouâre happier now? After all this? I donât get it.â
You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadnât keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.
âItâs a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,â you said around a mouthful of crumbs. âBut itâs my choice. And Iâm happy to do it.â
âFish?â you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.
.
.
There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldnât help but think was at least a little funny. Â
The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldnât hear their own sentencing. You wouldnât even know when to stand up and shout âI object!â It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.
A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldnât hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasnât reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.
The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.
You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.
Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasnât meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.
You looked down. You didnât want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the shipâs hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as itâd been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, yâknow, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.
No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. Youâd been taking your sweet olâ time sauntering to your demise. Youâd assumed theyâd have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.
You took your last breath, your last step.
And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feetâno matter how frailâand then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.
When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. Youâd always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didnât make things much better.
You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that youâd clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.
You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.
Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that youâd thought youâd never see again.
Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shouldersâkeeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.
âYouâ!â
You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailedâall that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, wellâ
When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear âstay putâ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbsâlooking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that youâd been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didnât know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.
He was warm. Warmer than youâd been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasnât the same sort of heat that would beat off a humanâs hide, but it was more comforting than any youâd ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kissâfilling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.
You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.
Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because youâd sent him on his way, hadnât you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find youâ
Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.
You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Sirenâs chest like a flailing toddler, he hissedâa spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breezeâand hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times youâd swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.
Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Sirenâs chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because heâd saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But youâd almost died, and heâd saved youâ
Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which youâd only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.
There was blood everywhere.
Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsionâeyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.
One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life raftsâarm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the sirenâs tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.
You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the oceanâs already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. Youâd been in raids, youâd seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.
It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirensâ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.
You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.
âThis isnât going to attract sharks, is it?â
Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fishâs dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.
Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.
It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surfaceâalways ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadnât even wanted to address. Heâd come back. For you.
The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.
Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, andâ
There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.
The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frownâconfused.
âWhy did you come back?â you asked, and the Sirenâs brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. âAnd how did you even find me?â
This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that youâd learn to recognize well.
He was pouting.
Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.
The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if youâd ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the merâs petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friendâs behalf. Becauseâ!
âYou followed me,â you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didnât know better, youâd say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. âHey! Donât be an ass! He saved me,â you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.
You gawked.
âNo way. You canât be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.â
He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since youâd watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.
You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasnât real malevolence in that stern glare of his, thoughâjust more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye heâd given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. Thatâs what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.
Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.
You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.
âThanks,â you said, soft. âFor coming back.â
You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.
You arched a brow. âWhat does that have to do with anything?â
This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.
âMoron.â
You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. âBut Iâm your moron.â
Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.
.
.
.
[TAG LIST - CLOSED]
@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess
@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01
#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Vil Schoenheit x Reader#Vil x Reader#vil schoenheit#Monster Mayhem#My Writing#vil shoenheit#Siren!Vil#Mermaid!Vil#Fantasy AU#Monster Mayhem Vil Part 5
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... and why?
Edit: It's my own fault for not clarifying, but the reason Post Earth is in quotation marks doesn't denote the future, but a scifi setting where humanity from Earth branches outward.
#i'm curious as to what people's preference is#and star wars doesn't count because that's fantasy#star trek#mass effect#dune#alien#avatar#babylon 5#battlestar galactica#stargate#foundation#the expanse
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brennan reintroducing the bad kids with genuine titles they hold in canon like âarchdevilâ âcaptain of the owlbearsâ & ârisen saintâ but adding âholder of the tin flowerâ to gorgugâs intro because of how gorgug offering his tin flower to fabian, even after they fought, so effectively represents the type of person gorgug is (a kind one).
#what if i died#gorgug thistlespring#fantasy high#dimension 20#fhjy spoilers#fhjy#if u think about it this is a win for the thistlecaster agenda (iâm delusional)#fellas is it gay if offering a tin flower to my bro which he later got put on the ax holster he gifted me is a core tenet of my character?#(no)#idk if tenet is the right word there but whatever itâs 5 a.m. idc at this point#but anyways. zac oyama characters you are often so kind & i love that about you.
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some ships I drew suggested from ppl on twitter :3
#edeleth#marihilda#doropetra#shuake#makoharu#yukamitsu#bernianne#monigard#aertif#pegoryu#saetae#souyo#berniegard#dorogrid#ferdibert#ryomina#hamugis#sumitaba#fe3h#fire emblem#fire emblem three houses#persona#persona 5#persona 4#persona 3#final fantasy 7
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if i had a nickel for every time i drew the bad kids having a sleepover
#dimension 20#d20#fantasy high#riz gukgak#fabian aramais seacaster#fig faeth#kristen applebees#adaine abernant#gorgug thistlespring#the bad kids#its almost 5 am and i desperately need to sleep#im also in a warehouse
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took a break from literally all of my responsibilities to immortalize this scene in drawing because that was insane
#fantasy high junior year#dimension 20#dimension 20 spoilers#fhjy spoilers#fhjy#british kristen#K2#kristen applebees#ikolitart#fantasy high#brennan justfying the pregnancy joke with in world lore made up in the spot#lou's how do you think she got pregnant#blimey indeed#what was that#what an episode#I've watched that scene like 5 times and I'm still laughing at it#âshe was not even britishâ âTHEN WHY IS SHE BEING SENT TO ENGLAND???â#insane
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is this the adventure you were looking for
#d20 spoilers#fantasy high junior year#cw blood#dimension 20#the rat grinders#lucy frostblade#kipperlilly copperkettle#mary ann skuttle#ruben hopclap#ivy umbra#oisin hakinvar#okay im done for the night#id in alt#i just think when the choice is rage or death i dont blame 5/6 of them for choosing rage
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The way he deflated like a balloon instantly at her hug and then obediently lowered himself so she could tie his hair â PEAK ROMANCE!!!
#ć°¸ĺ¤ć河#yyxh#love game in eastern fantasy#lgief#lgef#cdrama#cdramaedit#esther yu#yu shuxin#lin yu#ling miaomiao#mu sheng#ding yuxi#asiandrama#cdramasource#also mu sheng literally has had like#5 magical transformations#no wonder he tired
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Well, after many months- I'm happy to share my (rather ambitious)Â cover for our Final Fantasy Ladies zine: Lucia Sidera. I still can't believe the team trusted me with such an important cover. I decided to be insane and try and draw every main gal from each title and spin off (I ran out of time, so I didn't get everyone sadly). The mod team was already SO patient with me. I didn't have to do all this- but I legitimately had this vision since 2009Â (and there were a LOT less gals back then). You can see from teh initial sketch layout, how many character were originally planned- but then...I went off the rails. (note, the first image is the poster version, and second is book variant)
Final Fantasy is kinda my life, let's be real- as corny as it sounds. It has been with me most of my time here on Earth. It set me upon the path I'm on now. I wouldn't be Allison without these characters, the music, the art, the stories. I won't mush too much, but this, to me, was a very special opportunity to show just how much I love this series. Getting to share that with other people in this community, whose life has been deeply touched by Final Fantasy meant a lot to me- and I hope people find there faves in this cover!
I have the remaining folded posters from the zine bundles coming in the mail, but will also be offering this as a 11x17 print soon! So much detail means it won't be coming in smaller sizes, apologies!
Anyway, it would be all too easy for me to talk about this cover and my thoughts overall but I suppose it's not overly necessary- it can speak for itself I guess! I hope you like it :)
#final fantasy#final fantasy fan art#final fantasy fanzine#final fantasy zine#final fantasy 1#final fantasy I#final fantasy 2#final fantasy II#final fantasy 3#final fantasy III#final fantasy 4#final fantasy IV#final fantasy 5#final fantasy V#final fantasy 6#final fantasy VI#final fantasy 7#final fantasy VII#final fantasy 8#final fantasy VIII#final fantasy 9#final fantasy IX#final fantasy X#final fantasy X-2#final fantasy 11#final fantasy XI#final fantasy 12#final fantasy XII#final fantasy 13#final fantasy XIII
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so jarring to me whenever someone draws gorgug looking stylish and put together. if his clothes don't look like they're infused with motor oil then that's not gorgug that's his metrosexual cousin jorjuj. and i don't know him
#i encourage you to put your favs in cute outfits regardless#but to me. hashtag not my gorgug#he has 5 minutes to get ready every morning and owns maybe 3 shirts#dimension 20#fantasy high#gorgug thistlespring#scal txt
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naiad đđą
My full illustration for the Fantasy Warriors Artbook by @dames-zine!
(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)
#my art#artists on tumblr#original art#digital art#greek mythology#fantasy art#tw nudity#she's beauty she's grace she'll stab u in the face >:)#the water was def my favorite part to draw#so shaped! so swirly!#wow i think this is the first time I've been able to post a zine piece in the same year that I drew it#this also got turned into a print for the final stretch goal which was super cool!#overall loved working on this project <3#unrelated but how does clark kent work a 9-5 and have time to freelance as superman??? pls impart ur wisdom
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The cleric mortality rate in fantasy high is impressive
#dimension 20#d20#fantasy high#fhjy spoilers#fhjy#kristen applebees#my art#scribbles#I meant to draw a background#but this was 5 different drawings that I didnât like#so like a masochist I combined them#buddy dawn#art wip
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#92 - ĺ°éž (xiÇolĂłng / little dragon) - A totally ferocious, fiery dragon! Definitely! đĽđđŚ
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Happy April Fool's! :3c
#daily dragon drawing#the real joke is I skipped 5 march dragons to do this one#they'll be done soon lol#art#art challenge#artists on tumblr#chinese artist#dragon#dragon a day#dragon art#dragon oc#dragons#daily drawing#daily dragon#chinese dragon#drawing challenge#drawing every day#drawing#illustration#year of the dragon#fantasy creature#creature design#zodiac#eastern dragon#dragon illustration#lizard#april fools#april fool's day#april fools 2024#april first
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