#drag him down to the wicked depths below

[wheretwofacesmeet]

[casualbluebirdmentality]

OH MY GOD THE SEA SHANTY IS ABOUT AARAVOS

Woe to the man, the dark-eyed sailor

Ship’s adrift, and the sea’s his jailor

Drag him down,

Down, down, down

Down in the wicked depths below

[empty-fantasies]

Lament

In which Capitano realizes that he is simply a fool in love

Character(s) Included: Capitano

Knight AU, Knight!Capitano and Royal!Reader, slight fluff to angst, possible one-sided love/unrequited love, hurt and only slight comfort (if you squint really closely)

Regal, elegant, refined. It is almost comical to the knight who has witnessed all your clumsy moments behind closed doors.

Gone were the times of youthful adventures and endless mischief. From sneaking into the nearby village and avoiding supplementary lessons to facing the reprimanding of exasperated tutors, Capitano and you were inseparable since the day the king assigned the former as your personal guard.

To be honest, it was quite the feat to have Capitano even entertaining the idea of skirting duties. A young boy then, temptation was easier when you spun a tale of needing to run errands and that it was more training to prepare him for the many dangers you’ll both face in your later years. Yes, that’s how it would always go. You, with a cunning tongue, taking advantage of that growing need to uphold justice and to become the epitome of a true knight was a rather common sight then. Something that also turned into a small prickly thorn as Capitano and you matured. And, the only memories in which Capitano knew more than to be disciplined and how to simply be nothing more than a young boy indulging in childish curiosities.

Fleeting days of joy have ended for both you and Capitano have grown into your respective roles upon coming of age. A poised royal diligent in their studies, committing to their promise for prosperity and wielding their intellect for sake of security. And Capitano, an honorable and just man who became your most trusted knight—unyielding against the daring few who swore to harm the crown and the astute voice you needed when guidance of others was nothing more than false reverence. That is what you and Capitano were. A royal and a knight—bound by the strings of fate and duty to your roles.

Still, Capitano was but a man. And a man he was, coming to the realization that his heart too can yearn for another.

It’s in the way that the feather quill swiftly glides across the parchment in front of you that day. Jet black ink sealing away your future that had long been decided before either of you could comprehend it as a possibility. For duty and for honor, he would have said in moments of doubt and hesitation. It is but a necessary move to protect all those that you cherish ever so much.

And yet, it’s the almost inaudible sigh that has him second guessing himself. Then again, perhaps it is no longer impossible to pretend that he isn’t a fool for believing that fate would give him one small chance. How could he do such a thing when his throat was constricting? Every objection to this arrangement died like a candle reaching the end of its wick. Every letter received and sent was another dagger to his armored heart. Fury, frustration, guilt; a well of emotions dragged him down to the depths below.

The fateful day eventually reared its ugly head around the corner. All preparations were finished ahead of time and it was Capitano who was selected to escort you to be received by the neighboring kingdom so that the ceremony can finally commence. It made perfect sense for why Capitano was chosen. Having been there through thick and thin, growing into the fine knight that he is as you an empathetic and respected ruler, encouraging you that what you are doing is only right despite his clenched fists. Constantly reassuring you that you are more than prepared even though he was not ready to accept a cruel reality.

It made perfect sense. To everyone but Capitano as he stood at the gate, silently toying with the idea of asking you to run away with him. With each step forward, the regret became more suffocating. So much so that all Capitano could focus on was the increasing distance between you and him. Armor too heavy, throat too parched, mind far too distracted. How long would he have to endure this?

“This is Capitano. Knight Commander and my most trusted guard,” your voiced echoed.

Capitano remained silent, regarding the soon-to-be-king with respect that was expected of him. The man was loyal through and through to the sword wedged in his heart he so readily handed over and all he could do was peer up at the wielder at the end—you—who he swore to when he bent the knee that fateful day.

He could only nod in the end, bowing his head and biting his tongue to save the remnants of his heart. He was but a sword at the end of the day. Hardened and shaped to cast aside what distracts him. Merely a knight commander who so happened to have grown up alongside you and has been the shoulder you weeped on in times of need. An extension of the crown and soon-to-be the other man who would stand by your side once the marriage takes place. It was selfish of him to think that he’d escape his role so easily with just a few words. He knew it from the day he walked into that long corridor alongside the former commander, all but naive to the image he had to uphold. He was a knight commander. A swordsman who so happened to have the right tact to earn his spot and acknowledgement from the crown.

Nothing more, nothing less.

[comatosebunny09]

hurts so good | astarion a

summary: he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy, explicit language, bodily fluids, blood drinking, orgasm denial, brief anal play, cervix fcking, dirty talk, terms of endearment (love, darling), praise kink, drabble notes: heavily influence by this beautiful artwork by @looneylolita. screenshot credit

No time for pleasantries.

Just Astarion notching his hips to yours. Holding you so tight, the fat of your ass craters beneath his fingers as he fucks into you from below.

“Take your pleasure,” he rasps. “Take what you want from me, my love. Use me.”

The depth of his voice is enough to make you clench.

Like you haven’t been doing plenty of that already.

Each roll of his hips is languid. Deep. Purposeful. As if he’s on a mission to unravel every tangle of nerves in you with the slippery scrape of his cock. The head of it intermittently batters against your cervix, punching the air from your lungs.

You tremble so good for him, making his cock twitch and his body shudder.

You’re both saturated with sweat—or perhaps it’s slick? You gave up distinguishing the two after hours of this. This excruciatingly slow dance where you’re fucked within an inch of your life. He stops when your stomach pulls, and your mind floods with endorphins, and fuck.

It’s always with that wicked smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes that he tells you, “Not yet, darling. Gods, not yet. I need you to hold out for me a little longer. You can do that for me, can’t you, my love?”

As if it’s that easy a feat with his thumb running meticulous circles ‘round your clit, and his tongue flittering across your nipples.

The sultry gravel of his voice doesn’t help matters, mingling with the perfect amount of desperation. And the way he looks at you. Strips you down and exalts you like an idol to be worshipped despite the maddening thrust of his hips—

Gods.  

You’re too drunk from the pleasure to argue—maybe it’s blood loss? It’s all so very frustrating. Confusing because hours ago, he was telling you to fuck him like he were your toy. And at first, you did, with hands pressed to his sternum for leverage as you bore down on him.

But he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. Stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning.

Judging by the ethereal, orange glow seeping through your curtains, morning has already begun its sluggish creep across the horizon.

Astarion bucks his hips, bringing you back to the present.

You careen forward, catching yourself on your hands. You’re a panting mess, pupils blown wide, lips parting with the effort to breathe. You sift through the haze of your lust to glare at him.

His eyes crease with mirth in response.

“Astarion, what…what the fuck, man?”

He chuckles, something hoarse and abrasive that gnarls in your stomach. One of his hands smooths up your back to clasp around the nape of your neck. He brings you down to tempt you into a kiss, and he licks into your mouth, evoking a keening sound from your throat as his thumb tenderly skates along your cheek, betraying the devilish snap of his pelvis.

“Focus, darling,” he croaks into the space between your mouths. “Wouldn’t want you giving up on me after coming so far.”

It takes every bit of you not to smack him for being such an insufferable piece of shit.

You settle for growling something half-hearted, coming down onto your elbows, your hands bracing themselves on the crown of his head. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, pelvis rolling like waves dragging along the shoreline.

His hand pinches and pulls at your rear as you ride him, occasionally dipping between your ass cheeks to tease your puckering anus and fuck it all if he doesn’t know what it takes to push you to the outskirts of chaos.

He affectionately roots his nose against your neck, a groan rolling like thunder in his rib cage as he traps you in the circle of his arms.

“That’s it, love. Fuck me. Mmm, just like that.”     

Behind shuttered lids, you feel the cold prickle of his fangs in your neck. You relinquish a sigh to the balmy air, your nipples sore and pebbled as they rub raw against the rigid pane of his chest whilst your hips rut against him at their own discretion.

Your senses are crowded with only him. The slow pull of your blood into his mouth makes your pussy quake, and you share dual moans from the feel of it. His hands glide down to your rear to steady you. To temper the pace as that sparkling feeling builds between your legs. You whimper with exasperation, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Astarion,” you gasp, fighting against his grip around your body.

You wince when he retracts his fangs, and he breathes something sweltering and erratic as he drags his flattened tongue up your throat, fingers reaching through the riot of your hair and pulling.

“I know, darling. I know. But you’re performing so wonderfully for me. Stay with me. Just a bit longer.”     

You sigh, the sound wet and painful as if forced from your lungs. Maybe if you’re good and continue to play at Astarion’s game, he’ll grant you the luxury of your release.

Until then, you settle for rocking against him, praying to the Gods above for a most handsome reward.

masterlist

[the-sky-the-stars-the-sea]

Day 5 of The Ultimate Dragon Prince Rewatch! 🙌

SEASON FIVE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE SEASONS, IT’S MY FAVORITE FROM ARC 2

Very cool visuals in the beginning with Ezran and Soren and Corvus with Zubeia and the giant conch shell

Soren’s right, Ezran does need time to be a kid. Luckily Soren is a kid at heart and engages in immature humor. And Corvus is not that type of person—“I’m not engaging in this”—and yet he joins in too, which I really like to see, because I think they all needed that

“If dark magic does this to a person, you’d think they wouldn’t do it at all, right?” I agree with you Terry

Rayllum is back in full swing! Gah I love their dynamic, and I love Callum poking his head through Bait’s mini door. And I love how Bait and Stella cuddle up together

I have a feeling that Karim’s ring is going to be important or at least referenced again. There are a lot of sentimental items in this show that don’t have any value to anyone but their owner. And the ring has the symbol that’s in the “o” in the title design of “The Dragon Prince”

Terry is The boyfriend. I’m not kidding he is the greenest of green flags. He deserves all the awards. My darling boy 💖

My heart literally broke seeing the love in Viren’s eyes as he played with young Soren. That was real. At one point he loved Soren unconditionally. But then it stopped. And he was so desperate to make Soren better-

Viren’s nightmare, Claudia following in his footsteps, literally, and then she goes past him……

Callum and Rayla are such partners in crime. I love them complaining in the tent, then going “so we’re leaving tomorrow at dawn, right?” “Too right you are” with matching twinkles in their eyes. They could take over the world overnight if they wanted to

Kazi and Callum in the Great Bookery >>>>>>>

Literally every time I watch the scene of them vs the shadow banthers my heart beats so fast for so many different reasons. “I should have said it earlier. Rayla, I hope you know…” “I know.” C h i l l s. And when Amaya uses very voice…c h i l l s. And when the shadow banther scratches Zubeia? AHHHHHHH. When Corvus nigh sacrifices himself? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH. When Amaya gets them into the bookdrop?? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Great parallels between Callum and Viren but opposite: Callum has always been “destiny is a book you write yourself” and here we have Viren saying that there is no choice and you can’t change fate. So glad that they contrast here because I don’t know what I’d do if my boy perfectly paralleled Viren

Adding on to this ^, I love seeing young Viren in the mirror, and his desperation to not become like that. He wanted to try. His spirit hadn’t been broken yet. This story would have been a lot different if that Viren survived.

Archmage Akiyu is so right. I would also chase birds bigger than me and feed unsolicited visitors to a big monster. What an icon. (And not to mention gender envyyyyy)

Season five is callback season! Villads, Nyx, eggs and sausage guy, and Soren’s similies/metaphors (on one hand though it kinda worries me that there’s another Viren/Callum parallel here because both are pinching the bridge of their noses as Soren delivers these similies/metaphors)

SNEEZLES! HAT! JELLYBUG!

“If you see Claudia again, tell her I say, ‘hi.’” Peak sibling behavior

I love the whole scene of Sea Legs chasing The Ruthless. And then everyone going silent when they see the sea legs. Also the fact that it’s not their animation style adds on to it looking Not Right for the ship to be turning into a crab

WOE TO THE MAN THE DARK EYED SAILOR SHIPS ADRIFT AND THE SEAS HIS JAAAAILOR DRAG HIM DOWN DOWN DOWN DOWN DOWN TO THE WICKED DEPTHS BELOW 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

I LOVE HOW THEY ALL VOLUNTEER TO LOSE THEIR HAND I LOVE THEM

I just realized that Callum only connected to the sky and ocean arcanums after using dark magic…and this isn’t even a little while after but right after…

…I’m not gonna talk about Soren’s Moment with Elmer because we’re gonna be here forever if I do, also I already have a post about that and it’s actually my post with the most amount of notes.

Elmer feeding Finnegrin to the Sea Leviathan was so satisfying to watch

Finnegrin has no right to give me so much gender envyyyyyyyyyy

Purple pentapus! So one Avatar reference each season now huh? /pos

Claudia and Ezran underwater…whatever they had on the roof in season two is gone now. But Ezran is not known for letting people down. And so his body language gives her the answers.

Claudia’s sob when she comes back up to the surface…😭😭😭💔💔💔

Viren has officially broken up with Aaravos after being distant from the waking world for so long, love to see it. Fate! Is! No! Longer! Choosing! Him!

My gosh that Mushroom Man…

What happens to Viren now?? ✨To be continued✨

I love this season so much. And every episode is jam packed but the pacing is awesome. I was engaged the whole time. 100/10 points for this season

Also!! The Rayllum in this season >>>>>>>>>>

Today was a good rewatch day 😊

[lobstermobster-95]

Down in the Wicked Depths Below

Woe to the man

The dark-eyed sailor

Ship’s adrift

And the sea’s his jailor

Drag him down

Down, down, down

Down in the wicked depths below

Woe to the man

The dark-eyed sailor

Ship’s adrift

And the sea’s his jailor

Drag him down

Down, down, down

Down in the wicked depths below

Lost at sea, the sailor cried

I will not die

The sea shall bow to me

“That was quite a display,” Finnegrin said as he rummaged through the piles of assorted junk on his desk. His gruff voice drowning out the singing voices of the crew on deck. “All that talk about how love makes you stronger, but the second you see that elf girl in pain, you completely lost yourself.”

Callum looked away.

The tidebound captain wasn’t wrong. Seeing Rayla like that – writhing and screaming in pain, skin turning blue as if she were already dead – it did something to him. Just like it always did something to him when he thought he’d lost her.

That spell had simultaneously caused a pain in Callum that was so deep that he couldn’t think or see straight. He’d forgotten any spells or tricks that could have helped him and instead did the only thing he could think of.

It had at least been a solid hit – something his younger self would be in awe of for several reasons. A lot of good it had done him though.

At that moment, Callum caught sight of Bait’s empty cage and for a terrible, brief second, thought perhaps the little guy had already been cast into the depths. However, Finnegrin stepped aside and revealed the glow toad had been crammed into another smaller cage.

“What are you doing?” Callum asked, feeling confident he already knew the answer.

“Oh, don’t worry. The cage is for his protection,” the captain replied with a smug smile. “This way, he lures us a leviathan but doesn’t get eaten.”

He crossed the room and stood before Callum, looking down at him with the black-hearted confidence of a man who had spilled more than his fair share of blood. “The one getting thrown into the sea serpent’s hungry mouth is your elf girl.”

He may as well have been strapped to an anchor and dropped into the sea for how quickly Callum became submerged in the crushing weight of dread and panic. He struggled against the chains that bound him to the post, but there was no give.

He couldn’t lose Rayla. Not again. Not ever again.

“No, no wait!” The words leapt from his tongue without his consent. “A dying breath, blood filled with hatred, and a unicorn horn. That’s the dark magic you want. Just…just let her go.”

They could deal with the ramifications. They would find a way to protect Domina Profundis, but Callum had to protect Rayla first.

A beat passed as Finnegrin paused in the doorway before he began to click his tongue in disappointment like a parent about to scold their child. “Oh, my poor lad,” he said. “That deal was no longer on the table.” He chuckled, pulling the door open and quickly disappearing through it, leaving Callum alone as he sunk even deeper into despair.

“No!” He called out to no avail. “No!”

Again he struggled and again the chains around his wrists did not budge.

Hot tears began cutting their way down his cheeks. This was really it. Rayla would die and a piece of him would die right alongside her. They had only just begun to truly mend their relationship. The last few weeks began replaying in Callum’s mind

Staying in his and Ez’s old, adjoining rooms had been his idea. After Umber Tor, he’d shed the last piece of the already-cracked and crumbling armor he’d built around his heart over the last two years. He’d opened himself back up to her, and it was wonderful. They’d often stayed up late during those nights, fretting over Ezran and the others or just talking like they used to.

Then they’d traveled to Lux Aurea, retracing the steps they’d taken together on that first world-changing journey. The route had been easier this time. There was no dragon egg to hide and protect, no duplicitous aid from Soren and Claudia, and no race to outrun an impending battle with Viren’s corrupted army.

And with the border open, the route itself had become more traveled, leading to amenities like the inn they’d stayed at. Seeing Rayla happy and at peace that night had filled Callum’s heart in a way it hadn’t been in two years. He’d wanted to kiss her again, to hold her and tell her he loved her.

Now he desperately wished he had.

He could hear shouts and thuds from above him and his heart began to pound. He didn’t have much time.

Looking around for something, anything he could use to free himself, Callum spotted it. The slug Finnegrin had offered as a dark magic conduit.

No. No he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He’d sworn to himself that he would never do dark magic again. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. He’d vowed to write his own destiny.

…But what would that destiny look like without Rayla?

The question seared his heart like a brand because he knew the answer immediately. Without Rayla, he had no destiny. If he allowed her to die when there was something, anything , he could have done to save her, the anguish would fester in his body like a blight and consume him from the inside out.

He would do anything for her.

Anything.

Pulling against the chains one last time, Callum reached out and grabbed the slug.

~

The sunrise was beautiful, almost mockingly so after all that had happened the night before.

Callum sat at the base of the mast, feeling no modicum of triumph or elation at their victory. He felt like a liar, a sham. He was the first human mage to do primal magic and still he’d resorted to dark magic.

He thought he was better than this. But was he? Was he any better than Viren or Claudia if he would dirty his hands with the lives of innocent creatures if pushed far enough?

“So…” Came a voice through the fog. “Two primal sources? Now you’re just getting greedy, mister mage.”

Callum saw Rayla as she sat down next to him, felt the warmth of her living, breathing body, but he didn’t feel any less ashamed. If she knew what he’d done to save her, she’d be disgusted and furious, as she should be.

“Callum, are you okay?”

Was he? He let the question sink deep before nodding his head and letting his eyes finally unfocus from the abyss he’d been staring into.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling a smile up along with him. “Yeah, I’m okay. I am.”

He looked at Rayla as she smiled back at him, his heart feeling full and complete as she brought a hand up to his cheek.

“I’m glad,” she said softly.

She pulled him into a hug and Callum felt guilt wrap itself around him along with her arms. Below them, somewhere in the guts of the hull, two dark magic snakes now slithered and slunk because he’d brought them to life.

He’d broken his oath, and as Rayla sighed contentedly, holding Callum like she had when they’d first fallen in love, he knew that he would do it again in a heartbeat to save her.

And that’s what scared him more than anything.

[succumbtothenightmare]

Corrupt: Landon Tewers x OFC! Dove- Two parter coming soon.

This will be a really quick two partner. Basically all smut. Think like One Night but Landon’s version. This will have very mature themes. The OFC will be experience a lot of sexual content in this as Landon tries to corrupt her “shyness” and “sweet soul”.

18+ CW(Some moments of Mean! Landon, Innocent OFC, angst, language, drinking, smoking, drug use, smut that includes fingering, oral with male and female receiving, hand job, slight voyeurism, public sex, rough sex, dom! Landon with sub! Ofc, bondage, unprotected p in v, and use of sex toys.)

Snippet below the cut!

With a wicked smile, I watched Dove scurry back down the long hallway of the venue. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of an unknown emotion run through me when I noticed how meek and shy she was. There was a darkness looming in her soul that tried to break free through the innocent facade she bore. I could see it in the hazel depths of her eyes as they lingered on my lips. There was something inside of her that begged to be let out.

“Don’t even think about it, Landon.”

Snapping my gaze away from the disappearing form of Dove and onto Matt Dierkes, who was helping out The Ghost Inside tonight with their front of house. The Plot in You was opening for them tonight as well.

The whole reason why Dove was here tonight. Because her cousin put in a good word for her. One I had to trust.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I defended while stuffing my hands in my pockets.

Matt narrowed his gaze at me from underneath his hat. “Dove doesn’t need whatever you’re thinking. She’s gone through a lot and too innocent for your fucked up mind.

Rolling my eyes, I gave him a playful shove knowing while he serious, there was also a joking tone to his voice. I couldn’t blame him though.

“I promise it’s all innocent. I was just looking.”

Liar. You want her on her knees while she’s gazing up at you with those pretty doe eyes.

“Good,” Matt patted my shoulder before he walked down the hallway to which he met his girlfriend, who was here tonight to take photos of The Ghost Inside’s set. Her teal hair blew over her shoulder as Matt dragged her back into the room she just stepped out of.

With a sinister smile, I turned on my heels and walked towards the way Dove scurried away moments ago, ready to play with my prey.

[yet-another-heathen]

Cold, Cold, Cold - VIII

1,744 words. Original work, The Jackal of An-Nadr

<< | previous | next | >>

Content Warnings | UNREALITY, fever whump, very vivid hallucinations, nightmares, fear of drowning, hypothermia, anchored to the bottom of a river, used as bait, crying into your captor's arms, gorgeous & incoherent begging

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen @scoundrelwithboba

The thready, unraveling world had stopped making any sense to Nadeem so very long ago. He didn't know how long he'd been drifting. Only that night had now come, and the cold had, too.

Silt pressed between his toes as he strained toward shore, just barely brushing the tops of the muckweed with every kick. His hair drifted out in a raising and dipping halo around his shoulders, frost crusting the strands everywhere it touched the water.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had ever gone swimming at night, especially alone. No matter how much he had always trusted the river during the day, it was a game with death to be out here after the sun had set. The rivercats that lazed at the glinting heat of the shore would have returned to the river by now. The ones that couldn't even be bothered to roll an eye in a human's direction during the day would be out hunting for cattle that wandered too close to the blackness of the shore—and they were much more difficult targets than him. And even if the alligators didn't kill him, The Purratu's cold northbound waters were enough to. 

The motion of the current had already wicked away any of the heat his body had to offer. Shivering against the steady onslaught of water was useless. He knew with a creeping sense of dread that worsened with every minute; I'm dying.

Still he tread water, trying to keep his chin above the surface. His wrists had been bound behind his back, the anchor tied from them to the depths far too heavy for him to lift. He had spent all of his strength and energy trying to drag it closer to shore, but now his violent shivering was beginning to slow. His body was failing. He didn't know when the stranger was coming back to him, only that he was running out of time.

A sharp, shuddering breath rattled his shoulders, sweat seeping into the pillows as he tried to curl deeper around himself, chasing the warmth that was quickly seeping out through the bottom of the canvas bed. No matter how much he shivered, the draft from below took away all heat faster than he could make it.

Was this his punishment? Were they not coming back?

I can't do this.

He gave a frustrated sob as he tried, one last time, to saw his hands free of the rope. The fibers cut deeper and deeper into his skin, succeeding in doing nothing more than spreading more blood into the water.

He twisted his hands weakly in the leather strips tying them to the head of the bed. His fingertips had long since turned a worrying shade of frigid grey, and it took all his focus to get them to gradually flex to try to keep life in them.

The ladder creaked as one of the creatures came down the steps. He caught the flash of eyes, metallic silver pools of light that glinted in the blackness like those of a hyena. The predator shifted through the small space, the sound of lanterns tinkling against its shoulders. Then a second set of glinting eyes joined it soon after.

"Come back!" he cried in a fog of breath into the empty night. His voice was hoarse from clattering teeth, weak with the only shallow gasps he could still reach from the surface of the water. The lights of windows flickered orange against the dark landscape, glittering like embers in the wind.

He knew this man could outwait him. He could remember nothing of the stranger's face, but a deep well of rot in his chest told him he was facing something worse than freezing to death and drowning. He was bait. Even as the shouts grew closer and he saw the distant silhouettes of his townspeople pass, he bit back his sobs and kept himself silent.

If they come for you, I’ll kill them before you have even a chance to scream.

But now he heard his sister's voices in the distance. He had been a constant for their whole lives. They knew him. They knew him well enough that he knew the river was one of the first places they would look. He could do nothing but cry as he ran out of time.

"Come back and take me," he wept breathlessly, "Pl—please." His leg spasmed with a cramp of pain, and with a gasp of shock his mouth dipped below the surface. It took him a few long, terrifying moments to kick again strongly enough to break the surface. The redoubled cold of the night air washed over his face. He sputtered and coughed from the shock of it, feet sweeping back and forth over and over to try to buy enough air.

He let out a breathless sob as claws brushed slowly, carefully back through his hair. He shuddered, shying away from the touch, and held his breath as he felt it pause. Then a warm hand slid down the curve of his jaw and cradled his face. Please, please. "...please."

Please, warmth. "I'll...do...." anything. I'll do anything. Don't let me spend another night like this.

I'll never make it to the oasis if I don't find warmth.

I have to make it. I don't want to die alone like this.

I don't want to die in this forsaken place.

The hand traced his face, soothing over the sweat-drenched mess of his forehead. His eyes lidded as their warmth slowly seeped into his skin, exhausted sobs slipping through clattering teeth.

"I'll do it," he sobbed into the hum of the locusts.

Please don't let them find me like this. Please, don't let my family be the ones to find me.

Baba, Maaman, his sisters—

"I'll do it!" He yelled, and immediately sank back under the surface. In the moments after he surfaced again he was left coughing so hard he almost couldn't catch his breath. 

More lanterns had been lit, glimmering out beyond the high grass like guttering candles. They were still so far away. The wildlife that sang in the banks of the river gave way to the sound of distant cries for a moment before their orchestra breathed over them again.

The creature pulled the blankets away, unwinding him from the tangle of furs. He whined aloud as the cold night air washed over his skin, barely aware of the "Please...no....no," that streamed from his lips.

Talons pulled him out of the blankets, lifting him like he weighed no more than a doll. Then they moved warm over his sweat-drenched clothes, pulled him close against the creature's chest, and continued combing through his hair as arms wrapped around his back. He almost began weeping with relief when warm, bare skin pressed into the numbness of his cheek.

Something writhed beneath his toes in the muck. He jerked his foot away and instinctively kicked at it to keep it at bay, but it wasn’t something he could sustain if he still wanted to breathe. Moments after he was forced to return to his treading, slimy sandpaper scales brushed along the arch of his foot as it persistently returned. 

He braced himself for the needle-pain of teeth, drawn to the smell of the wound in his foot. He let out a near-hysterical whine as he felt those mucousy scales twist up between his toes and wrap around his ankle. Then its body once again pressed cold against the bottom of his foot, slicking over the burn, and kept him from dislodging it even as he returned to his desperate treading.

Lengths of bandage turned slowly round and round his foot, gentle hands working around the wound. 

His fingers curled against its chest, heat radiating against his cheek as he sunk further into the crook of its arms. The air he breathed was tinged with the incense-burn of smoke, huge hands warming the back of his neck. A wordless murmur echoed by his ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin.

Maybe the creature wouldn't... Maybe...

Wait...

No, he couldn't...it couldn't....

Something rustled in the reeds. Something brushed over his hair.

Which was reality?

"Make it stop," he pleaded breathlessly.

"Nadi!" his sister's voices cried from downriver. "Where are you?"

He coughed on more water, breath blooming in silver clouds around his head. Droplets flicked out around him as he turned his head and desperately searched the dark for any sign of the dark figure from before.

A warm cloth wiped across his forehead, washing over feverish skin. A rumbling voice soothed him as he twisted his face away from the contact.

A man's silhouette shifted, so faintly visible against the reeds that he couldn't even be sure he was there. He kicked desperately to try to raise his head from the water enough to call out, but suddenly found, for the first time, that he couldn't reach the surface.

"Õ̵͜d̸̰̆r̷͈̒ä̸̦i̸̻͋!̷̩̌ ̴̯̌G̷̨̊e̴̙͗t̵͚͂ ̴̼̃m̷̖̆e̶̬͊ ̶̑ͅs̷̠̾ȁ̸̝n̵̪͠d̷̠̽b̷͓̆a̷̳̒g̷̩̽s̸̢̊,̵̤͒ ̶̗̽n̴͓̒o̴̗̚w̴̥̉!”

He cast pleading eyes toward the figure, gasping on a breath that was as much water as air. Please. Please.

That...that was no language he knew. And some resigned sort of dread told him that his mind couldn't have come up with it on his own, not even in the fever of dreams like these.

"Nadi! Where are you?"

He struggled to crack open his eyes, but he could see nothing more than incoherent colors swimming beyond his lashes. They lidded as an ember-warm hand brushed back the small hairs at the edges of his face, relief coursing down his spine with a shudder.

He was either drowning or falling asleep. He could no longer distinguish one from the other any more than he could make sense of either of the realities from dreams.

The man on the shore was going to get what he wanted after all.

The creature at the bottom of the river curled its body slowly up his calf, fins fluttering against his skin. Its body tightened around him. Then it pulled him slowly deeper, and Nadi's vision wavered as the water closed over his head one final time. The muffled roar of the insects went silent. He turned his eyes once again up toward the night sky, empty breath clawing at his lungs.

He had no more strength to fight. His trembling, exhausted muscles finally went lax with one last, burning exhale that blossomed to the surface. Then he was no more.

next | >>

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[softagenda]

aperitif (ais)

ais x reader(f)

food au / short fic

series: birds of a feather ; aperitif

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview:

“He wants you to become one with the Seaspring. To bind your soul and body within this temple. To drown forever in these waters.”

His hand slid up your back and sunk into your hair. He crushed your mouth against his, more bite than kiss, his breath hot against your face. “Sometimes, sparrow,” he said softly, pressing the words into your lips, “I want that too.”

______________

A thin trail of cigarette smoke issued from the open maw of the Seaspring’s temple.

You felt the tension leave your shoulders, breathing in a lungful of briny air as you breached the steps and entered. This must be what it felt like, to tread on the tongue of a colossal whale: humid, salty air drifting around you, almost cloying to the skin; the arching red gates and rafters forming the palate, stalwart pillars covered in white talismans like teeth; a lake of blood pooling below like saliva.

As you surveyed the room, a form lounged between the pillars on the left, one long leg hanging over the pier, his boot stirring the water below. Your gazes met over the embering butt of a cigarette, his eyes glowing amidst the shadow and gloom of the temple.

You waited for a moment, gauging his mood, but, when the corner of his mouth slowly rose, you approached. The pier creaked underneath your boots, the talisman’s fluttering against the current of air.

 “There you are.”

Ais took another long drag from his cigarette before a smirk curled his mouth. “Missed me?”

“Not you.” You instead knelt next to the Soulless lounging at his hip, three tails writhing with what you’d come to recognize as happiness. “Hey, good girl. I brought you a little something.”

Reaching into your bag, you tugged out a parcel wrapped in butcher paper. Once the massive hunk of meat and bone was revealed, Princess leapt to her feet and whined, prancing on the pier. You checked to make sure all the paper had come away clean before lifting it with both hands and offering it.

Vicious jaws bit with savage glee into the middle, sending rivulets of blood falling to the ancient wood below. She spun to the left and leaned into Ais, as if to show him the gift proudly, before he gently guided her back with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Good for you, Princess,” he said with a smile, the hard lines around his eyes softening a bit. “Mind eating over there? You’re dripping.”

With a happy whine, she took her prize a few yards away and began tucking in with glee. You smiled but glanced away, ignoring the visceral wet sounds of hundreds of teeth gnashing into meat and scraping against bone. 

“Where’s mine?”

You dropped down across from him, crossing your legs and propping your back against the pillar. “Jealous?” you asked, an echo of before that had his mouth curling again. “Have you been a good boy?” 

“Doubt it.”

“Then,” you continued, “earn it.”

“Woof.”

Glowing red eyes watched you, their depths inscrutable, as he took another pull from the cigarette. The smoke curled from around his lips, slipping from the cracks in his teeth. The shadows under his eyes had darkened since you last saw him, the hollows in his cheeks deeper.

“You weren’t at the Wick the other day,” you said, careful to keep your voice level. “Skipping out on your tab?”

Smoke exuded from his nose as he sighed, head drifting back as his eyes closed. “Hm. Didn’t feel like company. Pissed I didn’t show?”

“No. Not like we’d agreed to meet,” you said easily. That was true - though over the past few months, it had become something of a regular thing: moseying into the Wick some time after dusk, having a drink with the other at the bar, sometimes lazing the night away in the booth in the corner, nursing pints and heckling Leander. “And now?” At his look, you added, “feel like company?”

“If I don’t?”

Witha short nod, you swept your bag over your shoulder and prepared to leave, when Ais’s eyes opened. “Stay.”

“Ass,” you murmured under your breath but slouched back to the ground. 

In silence, you watched the water, the blood red surface still as stained glass. Ais resettled, his head back, eyes closed, his expression almost meditative except for the furrow on his brow. Once in a while the cigarette was lifted, his frowning mouth wrapping around the end, before another ghost exhumed from his lips.

You sat back, content to wait, thoughts drifting hazily as though you were spread out on a sunny hillside rather than the threshold of hell. 

Ais could be mercurial at times - his moods swinging from playful smirks to grim contemplation, sharp with an icy rage or coddled by an almost drowsy boredom, with little warning. Some of that you knew was due to the Seaspring and the hivemind created amongst those who had drunk from the water, but it was difficult to tell how much. 

Every now and then, Ais would disappear for a while, locked somewhere deep in this temple, and resurface after a time, his countenance steadier, more controlled. You couldn’t be sure - you had only known him for a few months, after all - but you wondered if that was his time to center himself amidst the hundreds of others swimming through the hivemind’s pool.

Hours could have passed before you felt his gaze on your face. The cigarette was barely a nub between his fingers. He dropped it into an iron tray by the tea kettle with a flick of his wrist and watched you for a long moment before he lifted his hand. 

You lifted one brow in silent question, but Ais just curled his fingers, beckoning.

With narrowed eyes, you sighed before rising from your slouch and approaching him. Once in range, his hand whipped out and grabbed your arm, tugging you into his lap. Your knees hit the ground behind his hips, burning white hot for a moment before aching like a fresh bruise. 

Muffling a curse into the front of his kimono, you sat back on his thighs, pushing against the hand that had settled on the small of your back. “Here I thought you wanted to earn that ‘good boy’ title,” you griped, shooting a glare at the mouth just inches away.

But Ais wasn’t teasing as you’d expected. His mouth, rather than twisting into a smirk, had stiffened, a muscle flexing on his tight jaw. Red eyes bore into you, the color of wine, not bright with humor but full of a deep, bottomless darkness that hooked into you with a strange mixture of trepidation and desire.

“Far from it,” he said, his voice low and empty. Before you could react, his hips turned, both legs hanging over the pier, as he slowly leaned forward. 

Your arms, once draped loosely around his shoulders, now clenched around him as he held you over the Seaspring with an arm bracing your back. Your hands clutched fistfuls of the kimono, the fabric slippery between your sweaty fingers. 

Ais continued to bend until your back was near parallel to the surface of the water. Out of growing panic, your legs had wrapped around him, thighs gripping as tightly as you could hold. 

“Ais,” you started, but froze, the words caught in your throat.

His face turned toward you, burrowing deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. “Sometimes, the thought of you drinking from the Seaspring grows inside me.” His nose trailed against your cheek as until his mouth hovered against yours. “I dream of it. Taking a drink myself. Letting the blood pool in my mouth. Then…” A brush of hot, wet tongue teased against your lips, trying to coax you into opening for him.

A shudder ran down your back. Heat pooled and thrummed between your thighs, even as your stomach twisted at the idea. You’re caught between fear and desire, struggling to keep pace with him.

“Or like this,” he continued, his body pressed tightly to your front as he lowered you ever closer to the water. You realize with a thread of panic that the ends of your hair were now dipping beneath the surface. “Trapping you in my arms, and just… sliding in.” 

Something hard and unyielding pressed against your groin, rubbing against you.

You swallowed thickly, staring into his eyes. The simmering red had been completely subsumed within the black. An abyss peered back at you.

“He whispers it, in my head.” His arm loosened at your back, dropping you another inch closer to the water even as your legs and arms tightened desperately. 

The words sent icy fear flooding through your veins. He whispers it, in my head. That could only mean one thing, one being. A name you had only heard once before.

Ocudeus.

 “The thought of losing you, of someone taking you far from here,” Ais whispered, his voice rough. “He wants you to become one with the Seaspring. To bind your soul and body within this temple. To drown forever in these waters.”

His hand slid up your back and sunk into your hair. He crushed your mouth against his, more bite than kiss, his breath hot against your face. “Sometimes, sparrow,” he said softly, pressing the words into your lips, “I want that too.”

For a long moment, you hung there over the still water, holding him as tight as you could. You felt cold, your body paralyzed with fear.

Beneath you came the sound of faint, thin pops of air. Bubbles. One, two, a cluster breaching the surface. 

A scream was building in your throat. Instead of giving in to it, you stared into his eyes, searching. “You’d have to think of a new nickname for me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Sparrows can’t swim.” 

You licked your lips, your tongue just brushing against his, and - there. A flicker of that familiar red curling around his pupil. “‘Seagull’ doesn’t have - quite as nice a ring to it,” you gasped, heart pounding in your chest. 

The bubbles were emerging more frequently at your back, the water gurgling, near boiling.

A thin whine from nearby cut through the air.

Just as it seemed the Seaspring might reach up and wash you beneath its undertow, you’re jerked upward. As easily as he might a bag of flour, Ais rolled you both back onto the pier. Stars burst behind your eyes as your head knocked on the pier, your hair snagging on splinters and nail heads.

Blinking through the pain, you forced your eyes open.

Ais was braced over you, his hair drifting about his face, the white tips hovering along his jaw and his horns. He was stiff and pale, his jaw taut, his eyes clenched shut as he fought himself. 

When you twitched, his whole body tightened around you. His hand beneath your head which had once softened the blow, now slid down and gripped your nape, holding you in place. The silver pendant that rested on his chest now nestled against your collar, a cool kiss of metal against your clammy skin.

Panting, shaken, you laid there without complaint as your body slowly calmed. 

After a long moment, the tension seeped from him, a tidal wave easing back into the ocean. His eyes opened, and the familiar bright, brimming red finally set your heart at ease.

His lips parted but no words came forth. He seemed unsure what to say.

Gathering your courage, you sighed, “... good boy.”

Ais blinked. 

Stared, inscrutable, for a tense pause before his head hung between his shoulders. His forehead dropped against your collar bone, his face practically nestled in your chest, and just like that your heart was thundering again, knocking insistently at your rib cage. 

He tilted his face toward you, his cheek rubbing against your shirt like a cat. “Do I get my treat now?”

“Think you deserve it?” you shot back, still shaken, but fighting through it to smirk. “After that performance… maybe I should muzzle you.” 

Ais hummed, his hands idly stroking up your waist. “Would find a way to bite you regardless.”

“How about you bite my buns instead, if you’re so desperate for a nibble?”

His brows rose, but Ais smirked, his hands drifting lower, headed for your ass. “Read my mind, sparrow.” He managed to grab two, squeezing handfuls while you were reaching above your head and digging through your bag. 

Wiggling out from under him and sitting up, you pushed another parcel into his now empty hands, flushing hot beneath your clothes. “These buns, asshole.”

Bemused, Ais maneuvered himself back into his preferred seat, leaning against the pillar with one knee drawn up. He inspected the parcel before unwrapping the edges. Three golden balls of bread were crowded together, their skins glazed with butter and lightly roasted. Inside, he’d find braised meat and chopped root vegetables, all marinated in a spicy sweet sauce.

He looked up, that fanged smile spreading across his face. “Really did miss me, huh. Sap.”

Huffing, you avoided his gaze and stared out over the water, drawn inevitably to the place where the Seaspring had begun to boil. The surface was once again calm, the depths impossible to distinguish. A shiver slipped down your spine, the hair on the back rising. 

“Here.” 

A bun hovered in front of your mouth. You stared him down over the top. 

“Sharing is caring. Can’t be known as that terrible of a host,” he said dryly, “Think of my reputation.”

“You just want your balls in my mouth,” you grumbled but bit into the bun to hide your smile as he grinned again. 

“Been told the taste is to die for.”

“Who told you that, Vere? I guess he would know.” 

“Ask him. Get a second opinion.”

“An expert opinion, I bet. I’ll do that.”

Debating the point amidst bites from the mean buns, you sank into the comfort of the familiar as that moment grew further and further away. Princess, evidently finished obliterating her cow shoulder, approached and curled up next to you for a post-dinner nap, her head resting on your thighs. She seemed a little unsettled but calmed after a couple scritches. 

As you stroked her head and fed her the last of your bun, all beneath the soft, dark veil of Ais’s gaze, you resolved to tuck that memory to the side for now, to examine later. 

The first true moment that the Seaspring’s maw attempted to swallow you whole.

__________________

a/n: thanks for reading!

[an-actual-attack-helicopter]

The Aaravos shanty lyrics + the ones you may not have noticed because they were quiet and only in the subtitles:

Woe to the man, the dark eyed sailor

Ship’s adrift and the sea’s his jailer

Drag him down down, down, down

Down in the wicked depths below

Lost at sea, the sailor cried

……

I will not die

……

The sea shall bow to me

The last few lyrics are difficult to hear but some can be seen in the subtitles. I bet the obscured lyrics could hold potential spoilers about Aaravos so that’s why they muffled them. And why is he referred to as a sailor? It has to mean something.

The lyric that most interests me is “lost at sea, the sailor cried.” It could be cried as in “shouted” and the lyrics after that are what he said. If it literally means he cried, that would remind me of how Aaravos references a “mere teardrop in the sea” in “Ripples”, but that could just be a metaphor. It would also remind me of these sketches:

[mars-paws]

Woe to the man,

the dark eyed sailor

ship’s adrift,

and the sea’s his jailor

drag him down,

down

down

down

down into the wicked depths below

[secretlywritingstories]

Nah, you wouldn't have spared me | EPIC: The Musical one shot

Summary: Sirens are apex predators that easily bring down whole ships. As soon as their song reaches a human’s ear, a spell takes hold that no mortal could break. It is easy to lure men to their demise. Until the sirens meet Odysseus, who is turned into a different beast altogether.

Tags: Canon compliant, set during Suffering & Different Beast, impersonation, predator/prey but uno reverse style, POV siren trying to eat the crew

Warnings: blood and gore, tail dismemberment but not graphic, and death of the narrator

Word count: 3.3k

Read on AO3 or below

It is one of their scouts that spots the ship slowly gliding into their territory. The weather is mild and the sky clear. Bright open hunting ground and a sizable meal about to slide into their claws.

Sirens work in a natural hierarchy, based more on cunning than strength. All of them are strong, all of them have spells that no mortal can hope to resist. It’s amusing, how their prey is turned putty in their hands, throwing themselves overboard with abandon, thinking they are falling into the arms of a beautiful woman or a long lost family member.

So primitive.

It’s almost too easy. It’s why they have turned it into more of a game. Pick them off one by one. Stun them and then play with their food a little. Just to spice things up for themselves.

“I’ll start us off with the captain,” the head siren says, starting her hum in the back of her throat.

Singing is the time when they feel most powerful. This is what they were evolved to do. Sing, spell, lure, kill. An endless cycle. To eat and to protect their territory. To play with, if they get bored.

It’s limited how much play they can get out of a spell-drunk human but usually, the splash of connecting with the water jolts them somewhat awake again. Then they're really fun, desperate and begging for mercy but their fate has already been sealed. 

The captain stands at the helm, looking out over the water and he has got no clue what he is about to encounter.

She always did like this part, getting a glimpse into someone’s head to see what really moved them. It was often primitive. Predictable.

Riches. Power. Love. A trifecta for most humans.

This one is no different, she notes, as the spell starts to take hold of the captain.  A long-lost prince far from home. A wife and daughter are waiting for him. A kingdom that has been left alone for too long.

The wife is his focus. It shines out of his very being. He has to get home to her.

It’s easy to slip into the effects of the spell, knowing that her sharp claws will look like soft, loving hands in the eye of the captain. Wicked smile will turn into pouting lips that he longs to kiss. And from her mouth, he will not hear the siren song but the voice he hasn’t heard in so long.

She swims out to meet the ship and breaches the surface right in front of the captain glancing out on the horizon. Eyes are searching. Their eyes are always searching once the spell has got them. Prime for the picking.

“Don’t you miss me?” she sings, flicking her long, tangled hair over her shoulder.

His eyes find hers and the longing is so deep that it almost catches her off guard. She is used to longing, it is a plaything of a siren but this man is beyond desperate. Oh, he’ll be fun to play with. He is watching her face like he cannot believe what he is seeing.

But he is. She knows that she appears just like that wife of his. A siren spell is a perfect trick mirror. 

“More than you know,” he says, voice breaking and eyes never leaving her face.

“Then jump in the water and kiss me,” she continues to sing.

To place a death’s kiss on sailors is always her favourite things. Stealing the life right out of their lungs before dragging them down to the depths.

She expects him to throw himself right over the railing.

“Penelope, I've told you this before,” he says and his voice trembles. “You know I’m afraid of the water.”

Oh.

That is new. She’s heard about it before. Some fears are so primal that they don’t leave the prey, even when they are spell-bound. She has never met one personally before.

She can feel the eyes of her sisters, deep beneath the water, awaiting her signal to appear and start singing the rest of the crew off.

It’ll be a bloody feast, but first she must coax down the water-fearing captain. A challenge. She perks up a little. A prey earned for once. She signals to one of the younger sirens to come up next to her. If the wife isn’t enough, the rest of the family might be.

“I’ll make sure that you are safe and sound,” she promises, putting her arm around her niece, who takes the shape of the long-lost child. “Come play with me and our daughter and let’s watch our love leave the ground.”

“Oh, I would, but I’d be suffering trying to float the whole time,” he resists, gripping onto the side of the ship with a white-knuckled grip. He’s resisting but the hold of that fear will not be enough for him to resist her.

She waves off her niece, who disappear under the sea. The man might love his child but he's not looked away from his wife's image, not even once. 

“I would take the suffering from you,” she promises, and with how intensely he’s watching her, she feels like he will throw himself over any moment.

“Oh, as good as it sounds, right here, I'm just finе,” he says and chuckles a little, almost sounding abashed.

She will try again. Surely, he’ll understand.

“I can take the suffering from you,” she says, letting her hands spread along the surface of the water, almost like she’s petting it. Making her home inviting for him. Even if he’ll be on the dinner table rather than a guest.

“You know that I prefer my feet on the ground.”

His fear of the water really must run deep. She can’t imagine what it would be like. But he is going to fall for her call. He will, whether he wants to or not.

“I will take the suffering from you!”

She’ll feast on his suffering, a worthy prey brought down, struggling to keep his life his own.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again, she thinks that she has got him, only…

“Fine, but only if you answer a question or two.”

That has most certainly never happened before. No one has any questions. Ever. Against her better judgement, she’s curious. He might need a bit more of a reassurance to jump in.

Sugarsweet, smiling with sharp teeth that he cannot see, she says: “Of course.”

“Okay, so let's say, I was on the run or hiding,” he starts, voice growing more frantic, like he’s trying to force the words out fast. “From I don’t know, Poseidon! And let’s say he blocked the way home with giant waves and giant storms.”

That most certainly would not be good. Who would be stupid enough to piss off Poseidon? Their days would be numbered, if they needed to cross the ocean. Unless you know how to evade him, of course.

“Oh, no,” she says, tilting her head and trying to take in what kind of man this captain is. There is something about him that she cannot quite put her claw on.

“How am I to evade him? How am I to get home? Which route should I take? Where am I supposed to go?”

He’s frantic. Begging. For help instead of mercy, like she's used to. He saw his wife and his first thought was an escape from the Gods? Something is off about it, but children of the sea have secrets that they don’t get to share often. Maybe she could share this one. After all, the captain will be dinner soon after he’s heard the answer.

And it’s a chance to show off a little. He is watching her like he’s never going to look away from her face. It’s a little flattering, even if she is wearing his wife’s face in his eyes.

“He will chase you, high and low. So, find a place he’d never go. The one way you’ll get home is sailing where he’s scared to roam,” she says, drawing in a breath to dramatically tell him the safest way to avoid godly wrath, even if it puts him in front of a monster. “It’s through the lair of Scylla.”

“No.”

The despair in his tone is palpable. Does he know?

“This is your only way home,” she tells him. “The lair of Scylla.”

But there is a reason Poseidon won’t go near. Scylla is not to be underestimated.

“But Scylla has a cost.”

She blinks, surprised. She did not expect a mortal man to know about the cost. That you can sail through the lair and with luck, your ship will sail straight through. If you are unlucky, however, the whole ship will be sunken, crew and all.

If you’re not willing to take that gamble, you can make a sacrifice. One for each of her heads.

It is not her problem to make such a choice, and it is not the captain’s either. He’ll never get to sail there.

“Well, you asked and now you know. Now jump in the water!” she says, smiling and playfully slapping the water.

Her patience is rapidly running out, even if he is quite entertaining. 

“Penelope, why you know, I’m too shy and terrified,” he says, and tucks his hair behind his ear. It should not be charming, but it is. Strange.

“I would take the suffering from you,” she promises again, certain that it’ll take hold now.

“Oh, for you, I would die, but can’t you let me stay dry?” he responds.

Oh, he’ll die for her alright. But not while staying dry. He’ll be dragged down until there’s nothing but water.

“I can take the suffering from you,” she sings, and he leans out over the railing for a moment before managing to retreat.

It almost worked.

“You should come onto the ship. We’ll jump at the same time,” he offers and it’s sweet. Really, it is. But she’s not going to get up on that ship with him.

“I will take the suffering from you,” she sings instead and she sees the way his shoulders slump.

Defeat. Surrender.

She smiles.

“Ah, the things I do for you,” he says, stepping back a bit. She’s sure he is about to do a running jump right into her waiting arms.

She’s wrong.

The arrow pierces her shoulder and she shrieks. Deep and guttural and entirely surprised. It hurts. It stings like nothing she’s ever experienced. Their prey doesn’t shoot back. What in the world?

“Let’s cut the charade, you are no wife of mine,” he says and everything about him is different. His tone, his posture, the look in his eyes. He stares down at her in the water with a grin that’s a touch too manic. “You’ve been trying to take my life this whole time.”

He shouldn’t be able to figure that out. He shouldn’t be able to tell. The spell should have had him in a thrall. A chill shoots up her fin.

“I know underwater there are packs of you hiding. Yeah, I know exactly what you are. A siren.”

She snarls at him. He pays it no mind. Like he is not even scared, even though he should be terrified of them. 

“My real wife knows I’m not scared of the water, and my real wife knows I don’t have a daughter,” he reveals.

It makes no sense. She saw the daughter in his mind. She believed the fear of the water.

“But while you were so focused on turning my men into snacks... you didn’t notice that your friends got snatched.”

“What?!” she exclaims, ducking down into the water and they’re gone. She breaks through to the surface and spots one of the nets. How did they even get close enough to get snatched?

They’ve all become too complacent. Drawing in close because they were sure their meal would soon leap into the water but they were wrong. Now they are the prey. A siren out of the ocean, a siren without her voice is powerless.

“We are a different beast now. We are the ones who feast now. No more of us deceased, ‘cause we won’t take more suffering from you,” he says and looks down at her like she has personally slaughtered his men.

And she tried, but it didn’t work. Something already hurt him. Deeply. 

“We are the man-made monsters. We are the ones who conquer. You are a threat no longer. We won’t take more suffering from you.”

She bristles because it’s true. He has managed to incapacitate their song somehow. He was asking about a God before. Divine intervention? She should have sensed something was off about him. 

“We’ve been away from home for about twelve years or so. First, we slayed in our own war, and now, we’re here with more foes. While on the run from Poseidon, we found a ship with no crew. I realised nearby, there were sirens singing sailors to their dooms.”

Clever. The sirens let the ships sail on or push them out of their territory as best they can. Most men seein such a thing would assume, they got shipwrecked. No one thinks of sirens because there are no stories of them here.

No survivors to tell the tales.

“We filled our ears with beeswax. That’s how we resist your song. You pretended to be my wife, so I just played along. I read your lips and phrases, scanning for information.”

She takes it back. That is the truly clever part, even if this man is a trickster. He bends the rules to his own favour. No wonder the Gods have taken an interest in him, even if it is to chase him down. He thinks too highly of himself. 

Her sisters are up in the ship’s nets, twisting and shrieking, trying to break free but the nets are holding. They are looking at her for salvation.

Maybe, they can bargain. Adventurers love a bargain.

“Sirens know about every route and horizon. Now, I know how to get back to my island," the captain says.

This man is too well-read about the worlds. He knew about Scylla. He knows about sirens. They underestimated him. She underestimated him and now they might have to pay for it.

She sees the net thrown, but she is too slow to avoid it. It shoots out fast and her shoulder bleeds and hurts, the arrow still stuck in it. The net twists into the arrow, pain shooting up her entire body as she tries to fight it to no avail.

As she is raised up, she sees the whole crew out on deck. Some of her sisters are trying to sing still, but nothing is taking hold. The captain is not the only one with beeswax in his ears. They’ve all done it. They are parroting the captain.

“You are a threat no longer,” he says, as her net is thrown onto the deck. The impact stuns her tail. “We won’t take more suffering from you.”

She never thought she would get to feel how it feels like to be trapped and hunted. It is an unfamiliar feeling and she cannot see how they are going to get out of this one. The men have the upper hand. Escape is not possible.

They have to resort to something else.

They have to beg for mercy. And hope to be granted it.

She has to be the first one to say it. The others follow her. It has to be her who makes the decision.

“Spare us,” she says, words tasting like acid on her tongue, but she has to protect her family. 

“Oh, spare us, please,” they join in, voices calling out with a melancholy that not even their song possess.

She looks at the captain, into those hard eyes, and hopes for him to give in. She has never met a man who didn’t give into her eventually.

“Why?” he asks, staring down at her in a warrior’s stance. “So, you can kill the next group of sailors in this part of the sea?”

Yes. Because that is what they do. They are the predators of the sea. It is their job to hunt and kill. He is the one not playing by the rules. Outsmarting them in a way that should not be allowed. He should be dead already, but there he stands with all of the cards in his hands.

“Nah, you wouldn’t have spared me,” he says, looking right into her eyes.

And he’s right.

They wouldn’t.

“I made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life. I can’t take more risks of not seeing my wife,” he says, and at that, his tone turns a little softer. A little sadder. He looks at her with that deep longing.

The spell might not have worked properly but he is still seeing her reflected back. The way his eyes roam over her body to take in the creation of his wife looks like it physically pains him.

And then he turns away, face downcast but voice clear.

“Cut off their tails! We’re ending this now. Throw their bodies back in the water. Let them drown.”

“No!” she screams. All of them scream and thrash but it is no use. The nets holding up the other sirens are lowered onto the deck. They are on land here. They cannot move fast enough.

She feels like she must have misheard him. The brutality of it is too raw. Too cruel, even for a siren. But the captain is walking away after giving his order, distinctly not looking in her direction.

She screams at his retreating back, trying to crawl after him but the tail, the net and the arrow all keep her right where she is. Screaming and calling out for mercy of a man who cannot and will not hear her.

“Kill them all.”

She sealed their fate and he’s walking away. The crew are drawing their swords, and there is cruelty in their eyes. The same cruelty portrayed by their captain.

“Kill them all.”

He repeats his words before he stops near the railing and looks out at the sea. Like he cannot bear to witness what he has just ordered? Or like he could not care less? She is not sure, but a man approaches with a sword and swipes for her. Death cries from her fellow sirens fill the air.

“Kill them all.”

The first hit is only enough to cut through the net and slash open part of her scales. It burns and hurts like nothing she’s ever experienced before. It feels like being torn apart. Like being dismantled. The next swipe is enough cut halfway through her tail and everything gets fussy.

Cut in half. A siren is nothing without her tail. They’ll be fish food in the ocean that they once ruled.

“Kill them all,” the captain says one final time before disappearing below deck.

Not a single glance back at the massacre that he has left behind him. Another swipe of the sword and she doesn’t really feel the separation as much as she sees it. It doesn’t feel like it’s her tail lifeless on the deck. Limp and bloody.

She won’t survive this. None of them will.

And as she loses the fight against life, she hears the crew call out the name of the captain that took their lives without an ounce of mercy.

“Odysseus.”

It echoes across the corpses like a warning.

[silver-heller]

Watched the Lackadaisy episode preview. Spoilers below.

I honestly loved how much it humanized Rocky's character. The Rocky in the pilot was fun, of course, but there's a lot more to Rocky than "zany musician that blows things up". Though the lines are mostly the same from the comic, the character expressions and voice delivery bring a whole new level to the entire thing. Here, Rocky genuinely looks and sounds so defeated. That sun shiney attitude is peeled back to reveal desperation, and there's something so fascinating about Rocky still trying to wear that mask but failing. So we get Rocky's usual, artistic exaggerations, but paired with someone so tired he can't actively pretend the situation doesn't crush him.

I also really like Viktor and Rocky's relationship here compared to the comic. Or, more of, I think it gives more depth to their relationship's original presentation. On Viktor's side of things, he seems to see right through Rocky, and is unimpressed at him trying, and failing, to put on an act. He gives Rocky several looks that read, "just let it go", in more ways than one. Meanwhile, Rocky actually seems quite nervous around Viktor, because he knows Viktor isn't buying his whole "light hearted optimist who's the under dog" persona.

The animation really helps bring out those underlining character thoughts and motivations by occasionally framing things through characters' POVs. What I look forward to the most for the show is being able to see those moments of calm that really show off who characters actually are, beneath it all.

Yet, there's also the alternate route of just everyone thinking Silver is dead this time around, which also adds an interesting angle to it. Silver tried the balancing act between "sweet and innocent" and "vicious and deadly", unsuccessfully since it ended in his death. Viktor would then see Rocky as repeating history unless he quits. Meanwhile, Rocky feels like he's lost a platonic soulmate, and he doesn't know how to cope.

Now, onto my own show AU lore. Watching this scene and thinking about Silver is so interesting though. Viktor being so wary of Rocky makes a lot of sense when I put Silver into the timeline. Rocky is trying to use the same "down on his luck plain jane" persona Silver tried to use when he initially first met Mordecai and Silver. You know, the two people in his life who ended up becoming serious threats to the safety of the Lackadaisy later down the line, and whose quirks stopped being cute the moment that happened?

TW Fake Death

Returning to the concept of only Rocky knowing Silver is alive is equally interesting, and might further explain why he's at the end of his rope. Plus so skittish around Viktor. He's withholding information Viktor would be desperate to know, and Rocky knows it's important enough to Viktor that he's risking a lot by hiding it. He may be withholding it because he's afraid the tide may shift in an unfavorable way if the information comes out. That being said, with this route, I prefer Rocky being as clueless as everyone else, because it puts him in the same sense of loss as them.

But it's also hard to say if Silver would ever be put in that position to begin with in this AU.

I could also see the potential of Silver faking his own death because he was just sick of the Lackadaisy's shit too though. Atlas was a manipulative bastard, but after his death, things really got out of hand. There's Mitzi desperately holding on and, literally, clutching onto pearls, Viktor who clearly wants to leave but is dragging his feet while lecturing everyone else about it, Zib who is in depressed shambles, and Wick who is content to just watch from the sidelines. Meanwhile, Rocky is going rogue while dragging his cousin and Ivy into it, and is coming one day closer to just losing his shit. This isn't even mentioning that Mordecai, the person Silver cares for the most, outright refuses to admit he actually gives a shit.

There's lots of possibilities, and it will mostly depend on the characterization of the characters in the show I think, and what weaves in best with the way it presents the story.

I do think, when the first episode comes out, I'll rework some lore based on that, as it has a very different feel from the pilot and there's a different context going on. But what I wrote above is definitely my thought process going into it.

[ianiohn]

I'm just saying, you can one up many of the

Church goer's and get Baptized. You can

Seek out a preacher or anyone you know

Who definitely and unequivocally has been

Born again to do it because contrary to the

Lies perpetuated out there by the non-be-

Lievers and the false church, anyone who

Receives the Holy Spirit is both a Saint and

A priest with Jesus being their High Priest.

They'll fight you tooth and nail, that still

Doesn't make them right, just your antag-

Onist. Just because a person yell's the loud-

Est doesn't make him right. Then there's the

Fact that it is Biblical and you can work

From their side of the world and Google it

And you will, if they don't work their wick-

Edness and change it, find that I am not

Lying. I am finding that there are many

Church goer's who really don't know what

They're doing and either don't want to

Know or care to know or worse yet, know

But work as Satanists and do the opposite

To please Satan and snub their noses at

Jesus and The Father. The Church of Christ

Is a prime example because the were dili-

Gent to kill the Spirit in me. The preacher

Chaos said Jesus was hiding behind God's

Skirt's and called Jeremiah a cry baby. This

Among a host of other lies and slander and

Innuendos that revealed they are not for

Christ, but His enemy. I even took a son of

A friend, his being 5 year's old at the time

Before I found the degree at which they

Would stoop to show their hatred of Jesus,

And he and all those who were at the Wed-

Nesday meeting went into a separate room

And a few minutes later he came running

Back shouting " They're all monster's! They'-

Re all monster's and climbed over chair's

To jump in my arms and I had a niece take

Him home. I didn't ask him anything about it or

Try to investigate, but now know they've

Taken over the Church of Christ's name.

They brought up head's of the church from

Oklahoma and I told one of them I had re-

Cieved the Holy Spirit and I'd never seen

Such a look of hate before or after. They

Then proceeded to speak degradingly of

Person's from the Bible in order to cause

Sickness and division but failed to kill the

Spirit in me. The lying judge who also was

A head of the church was another antag-

Onist who tried to prove me wrong and a

Liar, but also failed in his battles of wit's.

Chaos told people I was being over theatrical

And that the Bible had driven me mad. This

All until I met with them and told them I

Knew they were without the Holy Spirit to

Which they faked umbrage and tried to

Drag me down to their level. Again to no

Avail. To take Baptism is to stand with

Jesus and tell the world the decision you've

Made and show them that you have died

With Jesus by symbolically being buried

With him by being dunked below the top

Of the water and being raised, again sym-

Bolicly, from the dead with Him. Jesus

Said " Repent and be baptized." Repent is

To tell Jesus you're sorry for the thing's

You've done, even to ignoring Him. Should

You cry, then this is the depth of repentance

And the sign of it is to do a 180 degree turn

Away from your old ways, and then to not

Return to them. Next utilize the faith you

Displayed by being baptized and doing the

180 degree turn and move mountains at

Your word and command tree's to move

From here to there. Tell storm's, " Peace,

Be still, be silent," as Jesus did and quiet

The storm's and still the water's. Anything

Your faith tell's you you can do, consider it

Done once you decide it is so and believe

That what you have asked for you have al-

Ready received. Google it or pick up a Bible

And read it and one up the church goer's

Again. Jesus love's a broken heart, so if you feel

Compelled to weep, do it to the depths

With which you allow yourself. This actually

Is a part of true repentance, a heart felt

Act and a show of genuineness. A broken

Heart is Jesus's specialty and He will heal

Your heart and cleanse you of unrighteous-

Ness. These are stepping stones to reciev-

Ing the Holy Spirit. When this occur's you

Will know that you have become a new

Creature. Don't be afraid to ask Him for it.

[abysscs]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𝐈.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄: ⠀A scene of fear, of running away, and of separation. The recollection of trauma passed; of grief and agony unable to be articulated, and of father, in the throes of animal-like paternity, ferocious and devastated and anxious.

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃. ⠀⠀ ⠀The following excerpt contains highly triggering content, and discusses mature topics such as: violence, blood, explicit gore involving a child, child death, spousal death, terror including child terror, post-dystopia survivalism and starvation. It is recommended that you proceed with caution.

THOSE DEVILS, THOSE BAPHOMETS.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Sunlight peeked through swaying branches; barren arms extended towards dispersing clouds while white-bark skin peeled and weeped.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀His legs were on fire, but he could feel the pound of fear deep in his abdomen. It radiated out to his edges, and his footsteps launched with such a forcefulness the forest around him had been reduced to a brambly blur of greens and browns and oranges.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Oh, that orange sun. Oh, those peeling branches. The temperature was pleasant. The wind was light. His lungs drew in rapid, laborious breaths, against burning alveoli. Were he to sear from the inside out, perhaps that might be the favorable death here. Because it was death, what licked at his heels. It was death, groaning and gnashing and wicked. It was death, rotting and twitching and screeching. Teeth and calcium, grown jagged from orifice once distinguished as mouth, now disfigured beyond anything recognizable; anything human. And from the larynx screeched something gut-wrenching; like anvil, it dropped fear from the nape of neck to the low of core. There was something evil that lurked in these woods; it walked the streets; it moaned for death. His death. His daughter's death. Reuven, he ran, he ran for his life. For her life.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Stones and roots and small woodland creatures were just barely missed by his feet as he went. His sprint became a jog, and then his jog became a half-stumble, as the precipice of forest met the end of the world. Reuven went staggering into the water, clothes weighing his limbs as he did, trying to shove it behind him as though its formless state was the only thing that could barrier him from them. Those demons. Those lamia. He is shoving the river between himself and them, and he cannot hear the pleading screams of his baby anymore. That is what drives a panic, ice-cold, down through his chest. He wants to go scrambling back to her, back to where he'd had to leave her, because they had been discovered so suddenly, so, so suddenly. The only way to save her was to use himself as bait. To go sprinting off in the other direction. He had already hung his rifle, and bag, up on the branch he'd placed Kuna upon, and told her to hang on tight. He would be right up. He was supposed to be right up.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀The dead, they followed him into the river, with their violent twitching, furious, and seeking, and seeking, and seeking… Reuven swam out to the deepest part of the water body, inhaled wild air, and went under. His dark curls lifted from his ears. His sustaining oxygen, it bubbled from his nose. The sound of the forest became muted, and then completely silent. The only noise that could carry to him was that of the infected: thrashing, drowning, muted. The man treaded undersurface, blinking burning eyes towards the dirt shore, waiting to see if more would follow him into the depths. The water—it was his safety. It was his liberator. The bodies, though dead, would not float, at least for the time being. Their lungs would flood with water, and drag them down to the sediment below, until bellies distended with bacterial reign once more, and they would return to the surface, still dead, still animated.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀No infected followed him. When he went emerging from the river, nothing but the quiet, humming chirps of birds and dwindling daylight greeted him. Reuven took a cautious step forward, heel to toe, and let the crunch of dried leaves awaken any that might be lingering near. There was no responding screech. There was no violent pursuit. The man's scarred skin prickled with goosebumps; they spread like forest fire up his arms, protesting the shiver of cold that his drench state had brought forth. His clothes were wrung out, as he half-jogged back the way he'd come. "Kuna?" his voice cut through the silence in sharp whispers. "Koala bear? It's me, it's daddy." His breaths brought razor-like air into his lungs. The silence pressed into his eardrums with a low, bass hum. "Kuna? Sweetheart?" he whispered again, and this time his voice cracked on the last syllable. Too quickly was the approaching reality that she might be gone. Dead. Ripped and torn and shredded into sinew and bones. "Kuna?" he croaked, almost angrily; it was an urgency, borne from desperation. The terror that his only living child might have been killed too threatened to consume him. He felt it constrict in his chest; the agony waiting, patiently, for its chance to burrow in. "Kuna?" he cried, through still heaving breaths, as animal does: in woe; wounded.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀"Papa?"

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀The voice chimed suddenly from the trees up above, and relief exploded in the man's chest. His gaze went searching frantically for his little girl, until her bushy dark hair and scuffed knees came into vision. "Hey! Hey, sweetheart, it's okay," he sighed out, rushing towards the base of the tree, where his arms extended out for her to jump down into. It were as though the toddler had been waiting until she saw her father to begin to register his absence; to begin to cry over it. He opened his arms and she leapt into them and suddenly they were both sobbing. Her fingers clung to his neckline, and his hand rested, securely, protectively, upon her back, cradling her into his chest like he might never let go again. "Oh, Kuna, I'm so sorry," he murmured, trying to get his own heart to stop pounding; trying to get his own eyes to stop crying. He was so terrified he had lost her. He was so terrified, its panic-ache still lingered forefront in his chest. "Don't cry, honey," he murmured, rocking and patting her back gently as his tone softened in its reassurance. "I wouldn't have let anything happen to you, koala. I would never let anything happen to you." He nodded, sniffling. The promise came out firm, and he meant it, and though he was uncertain of their safety in that moment, he allowed them this. A moment to breathe. A moment, to just stand still, and be held, and forget about the nightmare around them. And so then was the plight of fatherhood, in this wasteland.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀How wretchedly his little girl cried into his dirty, wet shirt. How desperately she clung to him, nails digging into his traps. Her terror was agony for him to witness, and he wished he could just steal her away from all of this. He wished he could take them both back to a time where soft couches and cartoons existed. And breakfast for dinner, and drawings of cows, and laughing at nothing, and laughing at everything. None of that existed anymore, and the harder he tried to make it still exist, the more it tore him up from the inside out to witness his child live in this horror.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀He would find them safety again one day. He promised it to himself. He promised it to her. He had failed his other two children, and he would not fail her.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀When her brother had died, he had taken part of Reuven with him. He had blinked at the baby's bone-white corpse, gently shaking his chest, and repeatedly calling his name, for several moments, despite already knowing, deep down. It was as though he could not weather the realization. And so immediately had his mind rejected it. And then, suddenly, he was wailing. He was wailing out his agony from the chest, screaming it. It had bellowed out, groaning and devastated, and his body felt as though it were on fire, and his heart felt it'd been ripped out of his chest. He had pleaded no, no, please, no with the world. But the world had already taken his baby boy. And before Ezra, it had taken his eldest daughter.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀A fury at himself was borne like no other, for having failed so intensely in his fatherhood; for having not protected and cared for his children the way he was supposed to have. He couldn't protect Chedva. He couldn't feed Ezra. Reuven would do anything in his power now, to keep his baby girl alive. Even if it meant murdering in cold blood. Even if it meant torturing an innocent person for a single scrap of food. He was convinced his reservations had been the reason he'd gotten them killed—that if he had just been more willing to do what had to be done, they would still be alive.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀He remembered smashing up beetles and scooping them with his finger. He remembered swiping them on Ezra's tongue and hearing his boy's cries, because he hungered so badly, and the best Reuven could find was crushed bugs. The stores had been looted clean. The farms, too. Every scrap of food on the earth seemed to disappear overnight. And, in his own hazy starvation, his senses had weakened. He'd been trying to kill them something from the forest for days. Even if they had to eat it raw. Even if he had to chew it up and feed it to Ezra that way, he would have done it.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀But there was nothing.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Nothing but the deafening silence, and the croaking monsters.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀He remembered laying propped up against the far wall of a cave, the chill of nighttime wind carrying through to them, where three of their four layed upon his body for warmth and support. His two living children. Their babysitter. Their shared warmth only just worked to keep the hypothermia out. Being the largest and hairiest of the group meant that he'd become their resident furnace. Reuven could not sleep, because while his chest and abdomen were used as pillow, the rock beneath his own neck was too jagged to find any comfort against.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀His neck had hurt. His knees had hurt. His entire body, really. Somewhere deep inside, where he could not touch, also hurt. It seemed he'd not had a moment until just then, to stop and be. His breaths billowed out, warm, into the cold cave. A body, dragging, twitching against its own hunger, went meandering past the opening. And the man had watched it, as though he were standing outside of his own body. As though just realizing what it was that lingered outside of their shelter. It did not feel real. It still all felt like some fever dream. He would wake up soon, to radiator heat and warm coffee and boisterous, happy babies. This was not real. It couldn't be real.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀And then Ezra didn't wake up.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀The days following had passed in some blur that was now lost to Reuven's consciousness. His memory of the entire incident was blotched and disfigured. He could not summon it on his own. Rather, it would come to him, in sudden flashes throughout the following months. Brief, vivid. The look of his boy's dead eyes. The feeling of his cold, chubby cheek. The silence of a breath that was not coming.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀With Chedva, it had been the matte of her dark curls, so alike his, clinging to the floorboards amongst a pool of her blood. It had been the sinew of nerves, hanging from dismemberment. It had been the groan, inbuman, that lifted from her chest. Her voice, not calling for him, but distorted and gutteral. Undead.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Some days those flashes would make Reuven want to dig his fingers into the base of his skull and rip the spinal cord from his neck. He didn't want to be alive to re-experience it; not even a glimpse, for that alone was far too wretched. His heart ached with every step he took, similar to the way it had with Chedva's death, but now hers had compounded atop of Ezra's. And their mother's had compounded atop of theirs. His grief was then multifaceted, staring him down any way he turned.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀So, then, when that anvil dropped for the middle child's death that did not come, Reuven had felt an immediate unbecoming. As though his body had begun to unravel at the seams, and whatever creature that resided behind shadow and dermis was to be freed, to roam in pure violent grieving.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀The man cradled his sobbing toddler to his chest, as if the barricade of his body might protect her from everything that threatened, forever. He wanted it to. He wanted his body to be enough. But how quickly he had learned, when outnumbered, it was never enough. His baby had to run. Her little wobbling legs. Reuven would sob in the night, when she was not awake to witness his tears, because it was all so wretched, and he could not make any of it stop. The best he could do was this: prop her back up on that branch. Climb on up after her, and snuggle her back into his chest, where her cries might dwindle as the safety he offered calmed her anxieties. Even if it was a false sense. Even if he knew. How long would they make it like this? All she'd eaten today was some bugs, and he'd had to have her close her eyes and nose, and pretend it was cupcake frosting. She'd gagged, and cried, and he'd held her, and told her he was sorry, and that one day soon they would eat a big feast, full of all her favorite foods, and she listed them off and she drank water from a leaf, and he smoothed down her curls and told her of their ancestors, and how they had had to wait for a big feast sometimes, too. But they made it, and he and Kuna would too, because they had each other.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀They would make it.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀They had to. They had to.

[sageofjustice]

In a magnificent display of celestial brutality, the lumen sage faced off against the Hydro Tulpa, The monster had left its home in the ocean to prey upon divers, as such it had to become one with life's circle once more. The Hydro beast proved a formidable opponent summoning weapons made out of water to launch them at the sage who evaded them at the last second, time slowed down for him to counter-attack launching several physical strikes, and massive fists of light struck the hydro tulpa, the monster quickly recovered and slammed his arm down onto the sage grabbing his leg, Angel quickly retaliated and opened fire at the monster, the bullets only annoyed it enough to slam the sage against the rocky surface surrounding its dwelling before dragging him underwater. As he was submerged in the watery depths, the sage attacked once more, a massive arm of light was summoned and punched the hydro tulpa below its impact causing it to release the sage. "BALTIM ALLAR!" The spell was cast and the hydro tulpa was wrapped up in chains of light, restricting its movements and preventing it from unleashing its attacks, the creature was angered and it trashed about to set itself free but its efforts were in vain, the chains only tightened, there was no escape... Angel stood on the monster's head and bowed for the conclusion of the show, his blood was pumping and his magic was surging...

it was time for the climax. "ALDARAIA!" The Enochian chant summoned forth his trusted ally the devourer of the wicked the holy dragon Ladon, it emerged from within a portal and rushed down to capture its prey trapping the hydro tulpa inside his maw and chomping at the hydro beast and swallowing it whole.