#hes an apex sea predator!

[taranza69]

Hey kirby I heard about what happened. Sorry your friends keep doing weird anime shit in front of you :(

[mv1simp]

Haunted ♥️ Part 1 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

READ PART TWO HERE

it’s where we go, it’s what you see (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realize there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 5.4k

Triumphantly holding the trophy up in your hands, you beam at the sea of black and white fans who scream their approval. Winning your second race after having fought your way throughout the season as the new Mercedes driver was an unforgettable feeling - sealing in that it was your talent, not luck that got you the first. And no one had given you a harder time and held up your long overdue win than the reigning world champion - Max Verstappen. Turning to your right, you reward him with a smirk as your national anthem finally plays instead of the Dutch one.

He doesn’t hide his frustrated glare at you from his P2 podium that instinctively makes you want to sprint away and hide in your safe garage behind Toto. You’re a bit annoyed he’s still taller than you, even though you’re on the highest step. One of the downsides of being 5 foot compared to Max’s tall 6 foot frame - but that hasn’t stopped you from finally taking the win from him and proving how deserving of your seat you are, you remind yourself.

As the first female driver in decades, you’d sent shock waves through the paddock when Mercedes had pulled you out of the F4 pool and straight into their seat after the loss of their golden boy, Lewis Hamilton, to Ferrari. What had been even more shocking was the fact that you were an Unpresented female in a sport that was almost exclusively dominated by Alpha males.

Like the majority of premier athletes, most of the drivers had presented from a very young age as Alphas. Unsurprising - given the traits of ruthless competitiveness, aggression and passion that came naturally to Alphas. And out of all this group of already highly dominating drivers, Max Verstappen was the alpha, well known for his perfect instincts, the ultimate apex predator. His early career was famous because of how, at 17, his intimidating aura had been enough to make grown men racing on the same track give way to the younger alpha. This automatic submission Max was able to elicit from others was one of the many, many benefits that came with being an Alpha in society - especially for one such a powerful as Max.

So when you - who was not an Alpha, or even a Beta, but rather an Unpresented - showed up to the paddock for your first ever race and then ended up somehow going wheel to wheel with the reigning world champion by Lap 20, jaws dropped and headlines were rapidly printed. Presenting as an Alpha was rare, an Omega even rarer - with the majority of the population being Beta. However a small population also remained Unpresented, spending their whole lives without any sign they belonged to any gender. Essentially, you were like a scentless Beta - but just several rungs below on the social ladder as Alpha commands had minimal effect on you. It could be worse, you had mused when started racing - you could have been born an Omega.

Omegas were a rare breed and highly sought after. With their attributes of being sweetly nurturing and natural carers - they made the perfect match for protective Alphas. Of course, as the world had historically always been ruled by Alphas, in turn Omegas had been stereotyped as the soft, submissive, delicate ones who needed to be closely guarded in society’s eyes.

So it had been suprising to you that there were not one, but two Omega drivers on the paddock this year. Yuki Tsunoda made sense, you supposed, with his slight frame and pretty features giving him away. But he certainly swore so aggressively up and down the track he’d have the commentators asking if maybe he had been assigned the wrong group. Alex Albon had been much more surprising with his very Alpha-like build - but given his quietly confident aura and gentle nature compared to the other drivers who were always aggressively arguing, it made sense looking back. And it had been even more surprising when he announced he’d found his true mate and Alpha, his girlfriend Lily.

Really, you were grateful you didn’t have the drama that came with being assigned a presentation. Even if it meant you would never have a true mate, you could live with it if you could have a shot at being world champion. But goddamn Max Verstappen, with his intense gaze and powerful aura that even you would feel tickling the back of your neck, across the paddock, would keep getting in your way. Your first P1 though, 2 months ago in Japan, you hadn’t let him win and successfully defended him off. It was the only advantage of being Unpresented - unlike the other Alphas and Omegas on the track, you were the least affected by his suffocating presence and used that to your advantage when pulling dangerous manoeuvres that vexed the Dutch driver to no end.

And he’d certainly let you know it after your first win - after a neutral indifference to you when you approached him on your first day to greet him, unlike the majority of the drivers who’d curiously flocked to the first female one. But after you took P1 from him, he claimed angrily, with dirty fucking moves, what was that overtake on the 2nd corner- you’d formed an instant dislike of him. Just because you didn’t bend to his will like everyone else?! Just because you’d won using the same move - you pointed out to him furiously - that he’d used to overtake you on the last race?

The pair of you had become quick rivals, butting heads more and more as each race went on and providing lots of great content for the media which ate it up. Sometimes Max would confuse you into thinking you were friends - occasionally murmuring helpful advice as you watched the post race highlights in the cooldown room, or shutting down sexist questions you’re repeatedly asked in the driver interviews. You’d think this was the warm, caring Max that you’d heard existed off the grid. But then you two would have some racing incident or the other and he’d be back to the fire breathing lion he usually was.

That first P1 in Japan had been bittersweet to you - because after your argument with Max, when you’d gone back to your hotel to admire your new trophy, you’d started to becoming increasingly unwell for a few days and had high fevers. You hadn’t even realised what was going on until your Beta coach banged on the door demanding to be let in, before saying you were finally presenting, 5 years late, as an Omega.

You’d been shocked and upset, of course, leading to a very traumatic first heat in a foreign country where although the desire and lust hadn’t been intense, the longing for an Alpha to comfort and protect you as you cried and whined has been so overwhelming. You had never wanted to feel anything like that again, so disempowered - so you had sworn your manager to secrecy and after a very private meeting with you, your teammate George Russell, your managers and a very concerned Toto Wolff - you’d tearfully told them what had happened. You’d expected to be dropped from the team, but they had taken one look at your distress and instantly calmed you down. Mercedes will most certainly not be dropping their very promising rookie, who had just taken P1 at her 4th ever F1 race, Toto had reassured you firmly, exuding calm confidence as he handed you a tissue. George’s large hand rubbed warm circles on your back and within a few minutes you’re laughing at jokes the two tall Alphas made to cheer you up, unable to resist the urge to protect the small Omega in front of them and using their scents to soothe you.

Regardless of how understanding your team principal had been, the fact was it would be terrible PR for you to publically present as an Omega female and risk the loss of sponsors. Given that the first heat after the presentation was notorious for being especially painful in an effort to attract a fated mate from the very start, Toto had guided you to a discreet specialist doctor to ensure the world continued to believe you were Unpresented. You’re relieved, hating the idea of being stereotyped as something delicate and pretty to be protected when you were anything but. You literally drove like a suicidal madwoman at 300km/hr for a career! So you’d promptly been started on high strength suppressors to avoid any issues with a first heat happening in the middle of a race weekend, and a couple sprays of sweet perfume later no one would be any the wiser if they picked up on any residual Omega scent that the suppressors couldn’t block.

So here you were now, celebrating your second win in Barcelona with a few of the drivers and friends at a 3 story club downtown. Although you’d been enjoying drinking and laughing with your friends, you’d been unable to stop the shivers that ran down your bare spine from your rival’s intense gaze, still simmering with anger, across the dancefloor where he was talking to Lando. You hated the way that you still felt so affected by him, by his scent that always seemed to drift over to you, always smelling more and more heady each time you saw him. And the urge to submit to him was just stupid and desperate, you thought, rolling your eyes and taking another shot. It turns out your “slutty inner omega whore” as you had not-so-fondly dubbed her, seemed more interested in having a strong Alpha’s dick inside her, instead of hating said Alpha for trying to run her off the track. Multiple times.

And tonight, the suppressants were clearly not doing their job because you couldn’t control the way you squeezed your thighs together, panties suddenly damp with the thought of an alpha like Max keeping his eyes on you - instead of the girls who had been throwing themselves at him the second he’s entered the club. You tell your inner slut who delighted in this attention to get it together, because the attention was likely murderous rage from the competitive Dutch champion at losing a race. Forcing yourself to ignore the prickles down your spine, you take another shot instead and head back to the dance floor.

Many, many drunk dances with your girlfriends later, you found yourself safely dropped off at the hotel. Pressing the button, you waited patiently for it to come down, fanning your face because you felt strangely hot in the night chill despite having left the club. And then you feel it - that heady, dominating aura that makes you want to fall to your knees. Spinning around, you see Max standing there, dressed in a rare outfit of a fitted white tee and tight pants, accentuating his broad shoulders and thick thighs. Fuck, you had forgotten Redbull was staying in the same hotel as your team this weekend.

He smirks at you, asking if you’d had a good night celebrating, because it’ll be the last win he’ll let you have this year, Princess. You despised the nickname he’s given you over the Redbull radio one race, and how it had stuck in the media too - the pretty little Mercedes princess. You give him an unimpressed glare and tell him to fuck off, Verstappen as you get in the elevator, staying right by the front with your back purposely to him. As the doors close, you can’t help but notice through the reflective wall how Max’s dark gaze unabashedly wanders down your body, enjoying the sight of your curvy, petite form dressed in a backless halter satin minidress and stiletto heels that accentuated your thick ass. Forbidden delight curls in your abdomen from the thought of an alpha as strong as Max finding you desirable. A deeper part of you - one that you would never admit to anyone - can’t deny that you desperately wanted Max to want you, having always idolised him before you joined F1. That when you’d picked out this dress you wondered if Max was going to be out tonight, if he’d see you in this outfit…and find you pretty.

And you’d never, ever admit that recently you woke up with damp thighs and lingers of a dream of being underneath a dominating blonde Alpha, his voice deep and accented as he whispered for you to take it all for me, prinses…

Again, you promptly tell your inner slut to close her mental legs - just in time as the elevator opens before both your floors to let in a large group heading to the upstairs bar.

They’re a drunk, rowdy bunch of businessmen and you’re in no mood to be felt up - and you find yourself moving beside the protective aura of Max. You scowl at how you couldn’t seem to control yourself around the taller man then find yourself surprised when he moves to cover you from their curious gazes. His wide shoulders block out their view of how enticing you look as he crowds you into one corner, his back to them. You nervously make sure you don’t stare anywhere else but straight ahead at his toned chest, your heart beating at 200bpm as the desire that’s pulsing through you being this close to him. Especially when he’s decided to look so fucking hot tonight, that intoxicating deep scent making you light headed, like luxurious velvet running down your skin, like burnt amber, smoky and woody from the embers of a winter's night fire. That wicked inner omega of yours can’t stop purring at how your scandalous choice of dress gives Max a generous view down your cleavage.

The elevator comes to a stop with a sharp jolt on the businessmen’s floor, startling you out of your thoughts and you find you’ve placed a manicured hand on Max’s toned abs to steady yourself. And as soon as you touch him - the first time you’ve ever laid hands on him, you realise later - electricity crackles in between you both. His scent becomes all the much headier to you - as if all the same flavours had suddenly become 10 times amplified. It makes you whimper and again, your body betrays you with the fresh wetness that suddenly drenches your panties.

The change in the air is instant, tension clearly palpable as you nervously peek under Max’s arm and realise the group of businessmen aren’t leaving the lift - and instead all their eyes are turned in your direction with lustful gazes. You shiver but don’t hesitate to glare at them as you tell them to get out. They don’t move, looking entranced at you, when a low, threatening rumble from Max’s chest makes it very clear that you are not to be messed with - unless they wanted to go against the strongest Alpha in a 100 mile radius. Slightly tilting his head to look back at the group, Max’s narrowed eyes and threatening aura makes them run off with their figurative tail between their legs.

The elevator closed with neat ding, moving back up, and suddenly you realised you were in a very compromising position with your rival - who had definitely noticed the very Omega-like addictive, sweet smell you were giving off as a supposed “Unpresented” female.

Verstappen- you say anxiously, frantically thinking of what to say to convince him to keep your secret. But all thoughts are cut off when Max unexpectedly leans down and buries his face into your neck, making you gasp. Your hands grab his shoulders to push him away, to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing. But the words don’t even make it out of your mouth because your head is spinning from his lips now pressing kisses against your delicate collarbones. Somehow, you’re finding yourself winding your fingers in his blonde locks, which were just as soft as they looked.

By the time the elevator reaches your floor, you’re almost falling to the ground from the sensation but Max easily supports your weight against him. He’s guiding you out of the lift and trapping you against the nearest wall - and following immediately with his hard body pressed right up against your soft one. You’re whining that he needs to stop, what is he doing, you’re in a hallway for anyone to see, but he cuts you off again with his husky voice as he breathes out that this scent, your scent, princess…fuck, I’d thought it was perfume or something but it’s all you, isn’t it? I can’t get enough of how intoxicating you are.

Tilting your head back with his strong hands, he bends down to the opposite side now and shuts up your half hearted protests by licking a line straight up the column of your throat. Oh my god, your inner omega was having the time of her life right now. Max, you murmur weakly, and he sharply inhales as your gazes meet. The dark hunger in his eyes is clear when he tells you to say that again.

And when you sweetly call his name again, he’s kissing you, still leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, and you automatically moan into the passionate kiss because it feels so good, so right as his lips moved against yours with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

But when the lift dings, signalling another arrival to your floor, Max turns to look with narrowed eyes at the potential threat and you’re reminded of how wrong wrong wrong this is and how you’d lose all your sponsors if the media found out about this scandal. So you use his second of distraction to use your small frame and slip under his arms, hastily swiping your card and slamming the door behind you when you enter.

Heart beating, you lean back against the door as your replay what just happened over and over, your hands running over your tingling lips where Max’s - your rival - has just been a second ago. Across the other side, Max leans against your door just the same. He’d let you escape his hold - for now - but he wouldn’t next time, because he knew what it meant to smell a scent so divine it made him want to destroy anything that so much as glanced in your direction. That made him lose all inhibition and pin you against a wall as he desperately resisted the urge to bury his fangs in you right there. You were his fated mate, he thinks with relief, pure joy and warmth spreading across him with the idea of having you as his mate. The one who he’d not thought he’d find at age 26 after meeting countless women. And yet here you’d been the whole time, right in front of him, the only driver who drove him so wild on the track. He'd never thought about why the pretty little Unpresented driver was able to generate such strong responses from his Alpha unusually quickly. With a backwards glance to your room where you safely hid, Max wandered away, contemplating how he was going to claim his Omega who hated him.

Meanwhile, the kiss has sent you into an absolute flurry of panic, trying to come up with ways of convincing your rival to keep your secret, having no idea why he suddenly found your scent irresistible. Your half baked plans came to an end when Max texted you the next day to meet him in the hotel lobby to talk. No fucking way, you texted back furiously, so you can get me alone and kiss me again without my permission?

You’d flown back to Monaco an hour later, ignoring Max’s replies. Clearly, he seemed as troubled by this…situation as you were, and judging by the fact you hadn’t woken up to headlines about you secretly being an Omega, it seems Max was keeping your secret - for now, at least. And you were terribly confused by how good his kiss had made you feel, even though you were furious with how he’d done it without asking, as if you belonged to him.

So you decide to ignore Max for the whole week, but when he shows up at your apartment door unexpectedly, you couldn’t hold him off. We need to talk, he’d said tersely, and that’s how you found yourself on the apartment rooftop - surprised that Max hadn’t barged his way into your apartment. In fact, he stood well away from you, leaning against the railing and looking out towards the setting Monaco sun over the pristine Mediterranean waters as you watched his back uncertainly. Just when you were going to ask him what he wanted, he began telling you the story of how his Alpha father, Jos, had claimed his Omega mother, Sophie before she had been ready. You tilted your head, confused. You were very familiar with that particular media scandal - where Jos had deliberately performed the claiming, the ancient ritualistic tradition of an Alpha marking an Omega as theirs - in the peak of Sophie’s career, and had illegally used their mating bond to manipulate her into early retirement and focus on the family instead. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, of how no court or laws could protect an Omega fully from the abuse of a controlling Alpha.

I- I know about your parent’s story, it was quite…anyways, why are you bringing it up now? Max didn’t answer your question, turning around instead to face you. You felt that same fluttering beating of your heart as his intense blue gaze locked in on your doe eyed brown one. After she was able to get the divorce, he continued, she finally found her true mate. And she told me about the difference she’d felt, in how my father and her mate had treated her, how one had made her into the wife he wanted and the other had protected her as she chose to life she wanted for herself.

You’re truly confused now about why he’s still on this topic, and tell him that you’d even spoken with his mother when you began racing about her advice as a female on the track, and you’d expressed your sympathies for how hard it must have been to have her career tarnished so early by an abusive Alpha. Being her son was one of the few things you actually respected about him. Thinking he was foreshadowing what he was going to ask of you, your scent became sour with anger. So, out with it, Verstappen, you demanded, what’s your blackmail plan, I know you know about me being an Omega, are you going to make me promise not to try for P1 because you can forget it-

Max cut you off then, stepping forward and making you tilt your head back to look up at him. You wanted to step back so desperately, knowing what happened last time he was so close - but that inner omega vixen of yours was far too satisfied with the reassuring, soft spicy scent Max was now gently emitting. You hadn’t even known he was capable of anything other than the intense scent he used to dominate on the track.

No, schat, Max says softly. I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want shared. Or use it against you. I wanted to tell you my parents story…to show you my father is the kind of Alpha I don’t want to become. I don’t want anyone to go through what my mother did. You can literally feel your body relaxing from his reassuring words, with the way he had called you darling in Dutch for the first time, from his soft look and scent. And it pisses you off to no end, that he can use his biology to make you feel like this - you’d had no idea the effect from an Alpha could be this strong on you. You realize you’ve involuntarily said that out loud when he tells you it isn’t normal for you to react this intensely to an Alpha, but it’s because it’s him that you’re reacting to. At your perplexed look, he’s reminded that your parents are both Betas and you had very limited knowledge of presentations, compared to his own family which were exclusively Alpha-Omega mates for generations.

Because…because we’re rivals? You ask, those sweet doe eyes of yours blinking up at him and making the urge to protect you bloom deep in his chest. Unfortunately for his inner alpha, he was about to cause you a lot of distress with his next words.

Because - Max swallowed, because, schat, we’re true mates. I’m your Alpha, if you’ll have me.

The distress that comes off you is instant and makes Max want to jump off the balcony railing, if it means ending your despair. You’re stammering out your shock, confusion, and then just straight denial at his claim, insisting it can’t be true - but he watches you with an apologetic expression, only speaking after a long time once you’ve let out all your conflicting emotions. He softly explains why it was true, that you might not know because your own parents weren’t a true match but what happened in the elevator, the reaction to each other’s scents - it was the first step to prime you two for the claiming.

He can see the colour drain from your face, flushed caramel skin now going pale as your distress turns to pure rage, steeped with fear - of him, Max realises. So that's why you're pretending to be so nice, isn't it? you question hotly, so that I say yes to your claiming just for you to use it order me to leave racing? And you'll act like its so different to your parents-

Max can't bear this foreign pain in his chest any longer, each furious word from you twisting a knife into his heart. His inner alpha is screaming at him to comfort and console you, so he does just that by stepping forward again and taking your small form into his large arms, forming a secure hold around you. Your annoyed shriek is muffled against his toned chest, but after a few seconds you calm down once he says, sounding so unusually desperate, he will never do the claiming until you ask him too, even if that's well after your racing career finishes. You pause, hearing the genuine sincerity in his words, and somehow deep within you a sense tells you that Max is telling the truth. As his warm, large hands soothingly rub circles on your back, you find yourself closing your eyes and lean into him, your french manicured hands pressing against his firm muscles and hearing his strong heartbeat through his chest.

You stay like that for a long time, slowly processing everything he's told you, until the sunset disappears over the Monaco horizon and the bright city lights emerge. At some point his arms have wrapped around your soft waist, one hand firmly on your hip and the other cradling your head against him, softly stroking your dark curls. If anyone had told you a month ago that you'd find yourself in this position with goddamn Max Verstappen you'd have laughed them off the track. But here you are, your inner omega purring with satisfaction at the secure embrace of your strong Alpha. You find yourself returning his comforting embrace by tentatively moving your small palms up over his pecs and across his ridiculously broad shoulders, looping around his wide neck. You hear Max's breathing hitch as he feels your shy touch, and then he’s hit with your delicious scent as your new position exposes your neck. It's the same as in the lift - so sweet, like exotic Indian jasmine on a hot summer night, like burnt sticky vanilla in the stroopwafels he adored as a kid, on the rare days he was allowed to go to the park instead of karting. But this time, your scent is even more inviting as your desire for him is stronger, and he doesn't fight his instincts and buries his face into your delicate neck again. He inhales deeply and leaves you gasping when he starts leaving lazy, soft kisses in the hollow of your throat. This time, you can't bring yourself to pull away, your fingers gently threading into his hair as you tentatively call out V-Verstappen, this is-

That's not my name, prinses he rumbles lowly, Dutch accent slipping through as he continues moving up your neck, leaving hickeys with flicks of his tongue and gentle, teasing nips of his sharp fangs - teasing, but not puncturing your tantalising caramel skin. And when you sweetly moan Max for him, looking up at him with those wide brown doe eyes, heady with desire, and a pretty red flush across your full cheeks, he meets your plush lips with his own. There's no hesitation this time, your fingers tangling into his messy blonde locks as you kiss deeply. His large hands running across your body make you feel like you're on fire. And when he grabs a hold of your thick ass, squeezing it like he owned it and and pulling you even closer to him, you're gasping and moaning sweetly into his mouth. He doesn't hesitate to slide inside your parted lips, completely dominating the kiss as he easily takes control over your tongue despite your efforts to battle against his.

Max, this is so wrong you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as his large thigh parts yours, your skirt sliding up as thick muscles come into contact with your aching core. You're certain he's going to be able to feel the wetness rapidly pooling between your own legs. Then why does it feel so right, prinses? He cockily responds, squeezing your ass greedily again and moaning himself when you start grinding against his leg, your wetness dripping past your soaked panties and ruining his pants. Fuck, he was never going to take these off, so he would always have the intoxicating scent of how sweet you smelled when you were so desperate for him, hmm?

The harsh ringing of your phone you'd set on a nearby table startles you. Max ignores it, flexing his thighs up against you to tempt your self control again as your inner Omega begs you to let the Alpha - your Alpha - claim you right here, right now, for all the world to see. But through the haze you see your boss's face flash on the screen and suddenly you're reminded of what's at stake. Snapping to your senses, you stumble away from Max's strong hold, making him growl in annoyance as he reluctantly releases you from his arms. This is why I didn't want to talk, you hiss at him, but he can tell from your scent you’re more conflicted than angry. Because you- you cutely flush, -we can't control ourselves for more than 5 minutes without something like this happening. You gesture to the space between you two as he watches you inquisitively, taking in every small movement with a tilt of his head like he was a lion stalking a deer. Stay away from me from now on, Verstappen you say with a scowl on your pretty face, pointing right at him, his sharp blue eyes not missing the slight tremor that gives away how affected you feel by him. I need to focus on winning this championship and not your…slutty Alpha seduction techniques.

He lets you go, smirking as you practically sprint away down the stairs to avoid any further temptation, enjoying the view of your generous ass from behind. Using his thumb to brush the dampness you left on his pants, he licks it away, chest lowly rumbling in approval as he confirms you’ll taste just as sweet as you looked, as you smelled. Next time, he promises his disgruntled inner Alpha.

After all, it was only a matter of time before he claimed you - it was a question of when, not if. The dark, controlling parts of him wanted to lay his claim on you right now, knowing that you desired him and would be unable to resist if he wanted to have his way with you. But you’d be so much sweeter, more pliable, more eager for him if he waited until you came begging.

He’d have his fun in the meantime.

READ PART TWO HERE

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

35 / 2.1k / shark merman Price and remora mermaid reader for mermay :)

...

Price isn’t stupid. He knows you’ve been following him since the early morning as he makes the rounds through his favorite reef. You’re stealthing poorly—just poorly enough that he knows you’re there, but you’re still small enough to dart into the reef every time he tries to get a good look at you.

He's been ignoring you and hoping you’ll take the hint to buzz off before he makes you buzz off.

You think you’re getting the hang of sneaking up on him when you turn a corner and lose him. And then he’s sneaking up on you.

You peek around the bright lumps of coral, wondering where he’s gone, when something blots out the sunlight above. You look up to see him—the long expanse of muscle and bulk on top and the smooth shark’s tail below—as he peers down at you.

You stiffen, pressing yourself to the sandy sea floor.

He scans you with his dark eyes to determine just what kind of creature has been following him. Not a threat, decides. Even as a mer. You’re too small. Too soft. You have no teeth to speak of. How laughable. And a tiny little thing, at that.

You straighten up, watching him circle you. You’d been looking for an opportunity just like this. That’s why you were tailing him. But now that his shrewd gaze is finally on you, you feel exposed.

He takes his time inspecting you. Then he swims a wide arc around you once more and lowers his clawed as if to touch you. You force yourself to stay still, your tail curled under you on the sand.

“You’ve been following me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

Price hooks one of his claws under your chin and pulls your head lightly upwards. You slowly rise as he tilts your chin up until you're suspended in the water in front of him.

"You should be scared of me,” he says.

You settle your own hands on his wrist in contentment. You look less like a meal being evaluated and more like a kitten being scratched under the chin. "Would you like me to be scared?"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. He knows exactly what this is. You're a remora mer, which means you instinctively seek out and bond with bigger creatures. Even if that creature is an unfriendly shark mer. Surely you must know how dangerous it is to be within his reach?

"You're very big. You must be king of this reef,” you say.

He pauses as the praise washes over him. He knows how intimidating he is, and you should realize you're nothing but small, soft and fragile. But obviously your instincts for fawning and flattery are finely honed.

He can see the way your little self seems to be drawn to him. A remora mer, indeed. He's seen others like you, but they've always avoided him. He could just as easily kill you as he could accept your company.

There is something pitifully adorable about you. The way you tilt your head and expose your throat unwittingly is endearing. He knows it’s because your instincts are leading you to bond with him for the safety he provides. You're too willing.

"Do you lack the common sense to fear an apex predator?" he asks, voice low and amused.

"Yes," you respond obediently.

He can see the way your little body is pressing up to his hand, desperate to get closer. He moves his arm, gently guiding you closer to him. "Good," he rumbles softly before using two claws to stroke down the curve of your neck. "Very good. You're too small to survive my teeth, you know."

"Of course. Much too small. Your teeth are so big and sharp."

"And you're soft and weak. Soft as a piece of kelp, I bet." He gives the tip of your tail a flick, and his eyes glitter as you bob and shake out your tail fin at the touch. Fussy little creature. "You're not very good at what you're supposed to do, little mer."

You open up your eyes. "I'm not?"

"Following me for hours without even trying to ingratiate yourself to me," he growls. "You're supposed to busy yourself with my needs. Not..." He trails off as you tilt up into his touch, almost nuzzling his hand. He gives your forehead a light flick with his claw to make you pay attention. "Acting like some kind of pet."

You quickly smooth yourself down. "Of course. I know that." You dart closer, putting your small hands on his inner arm, his shoulder, his chest, inspecting him. Your fingers glide over him, brushing and scratching and plucking away bits of sea debris and dry skin. Grooming him. "I just thought you might want me to be scared of you first."

Oh. He’s enjoying this far more than he thought he would. For something so soft, you’re quite bold.

He presses on your hip to turn you slightly as you work, idly inspecting you in return. "Maybe later. Let’s see if you’re worth the effort first." He rests his chin on his other hand to watch you fuss over him. It's been a long time since he had any kind of attention on him. You dart around behind him and busy yourself with his hair next.

He leans into your touch when you start to untangle his hair. "You seem to enjoy this.”

“I do.”

“Good for you,” he drawls. "Are you good for anything else?"

"I'm good for lots of things." You move from his hair down to his tail, trying not to stare.

"Oh?" He reaches up and idly drags the back of his knuckles down your spine and over the fin there. He smirks as your fin flattens with the touch. "Like what?"

"Anything you can think of."

"Anything?" He gives a low rumble in his throat at your words. "Don't go promising favors you can't fulfill, little remora."

"Okay," you chime.

He grabs ahold of your tail fins. "And don't agree with every single thing I say, either. That makes you far too easy to manipulate."

"Yes, sir!"

He rolls his eyes. You really are a pushover. It's like you want him to be cruel to you. He lets go of your tail but twirls his fingers in the tip of your tailfins. "Is it your instincts that are making you so deferential? Or are you just a coward?"

You pretend to think about this for a moment. Then you respond, pleasantly, "Which do you prefer?"

"Mm, so you do have a brain."

"Me? No, surely that can't be. Not a thought in my head, sir. Promise."

He eyes you like a disobedient puppy. You're putting on this fairly convincing act, being a mindless, servile little thing, and it's confusing his instincts to know you're doing a fair bit of manipulation yourself to win his protection.

"Might prefer you a bit more brainless, actually," he says. He nudges the underside of your chin with his knuckle this time instead of his claw, noting how you drop what you were doing to follow the gesture as he guides you out in front of him again. "You're willing to do anything I ask, then? No questions?"

"Yes, sir.” You rest your much smaller body against his forearm again. “Anything.”

He looks down at how you submit willingly to his hand, taking in the sight of your small body pressed up against it. He feels something primal coil in his gut at the display. You let yourself fall under his control so easily. "What if I told you to open your mouth like a goldfish?" He brings his thumb up to your lip. "Would you?"

You open your mouth.

Interesting. He taps your lower lip with the tip of his thumb. "Wide," he murmurs. "Open up wide for me."

You open wider.

"Now bite."

You bite down around the tip of his thumb.

His lips twitch up into a smile at the feeling of you nibbling at him, the little scrape of your teeth. "Good. Harder."

You reposition your grip and chomp down in earnest this time. He grunts. Your teeth are smaller than his, but they're still sharp.

"There you go. Not bad for such a small mouth." He pulls it away, half-expecting you to start hollowing your cheeks on his thumb if he dawdles too long. "Have you ever had to deal with bigger fish?"

"Of course," you chirp. Like it's no big deal.

Price snorts. It's hard to imagine something like you doing anything but darting behind the nearest rock at the first sign of danger. “How many have you killed?"

"None."

"Right, I'm sure you ask them nicely to leave you alone," he says. "And do they listen?”

"Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't."

"And when they don't, what do you do? Do you fight back? Do you give up?"

"Well..." You wring your hands briefly. "You're going to handle it now, right? So what does it matter?"

"It matters to me." For some reason, the thought of you trying to fight back against a larger fish makes him restless. "You still need to know how to defend yourself."

You frown. "You're not going to do it for me?"

He scoffs, but you're starting to make him feel something close to concern for you. He doesn't know why the thought of you being defenseless irks him so. "Are you really that helpless? Are you really so soft that you just want me to fight all your battles for you?"

"I mean, you're a shark."

He huffs irritably at that, his annoyance with you outweighed by his annoyance with himself for feeling concerned over you. "Do you think I'm going to do everything for you just because I'm bigger and stronger?"

You smile at him, pleased.

Ah. He's the fool suddenly. He grabs you around the waist with just one of his big hands and brings you close, his voice lowering in warning. "Stop smiling, little fish."

"Okay," you chime.

"I told you to stop sounding so bloody agreeable. You make me want to bite you." He lifts you up in front of him to get a clearer look at your face. Your eyes are too wide, your smile is too sweet, your body is too flimsy. It's all infuriating to him. He’s been roaming the ocean a long time and he's grown comfortably hard and cold. You’re not changing that. "You have no self-preservation instincts at all, do you? You're just going to get yourself killed one day."

You settle into his hand comfortably. "Maybe so. Can I get you anything else, boss?"

You're hopeless, he decides. With how sweet and docile you are, he feels something clawing at the inside of his chest the longer he holds you.

Instead of answering you, he fits you against his chest, into the crook of his arm. There. Better. He can keep you closer this way without having to look at your silly doe eyes.

“Not now,” he says finally. “Maybe later.”

You lean into the position, tucking into the side of his chest like you're making yourself at home. "Okay, boss."

He can’t decide if he likes you calling him that or not. He can feel the way you nestle against him, settling in comfortably and making no effort to resist. You really are too easy to control. Just a little pull and you're molded against his side. He feels you start to smooth down some of his chest scales without even thinking. Grooming him. Nice and clean. Little busybody.

He's not used to being pampered, but feeling the tension start to bleed from his muscles under your touch… maybe it’s not so bad. He glances down at you, wondering how you're able to look so contented tucked up against him. His chest rumbles as you scratch near his throat. He lets his muscles relax under your hand.

You're an annoying little thing--too innocent, too naive, too sweet, and he conveniently forgets how capable you are of convincing him of that to win him over--but it's been too damn long since he's allowed himself to be comforted.

Maybe it would be alright to let you stay with him for a little while.

...

more Price / more mer au / masterlist tag

[blueiscoool]

Gigantic Skull of Prehistoric Sea Monster Found on England’s ‘Jurassic Coast’

The remarkably well-preserved skull of a gigantic pliosaur, a prehistoric sea monster, has been discovered on a beach in the county of Dorset in southern England, and it could reveal secrets about these awe-inspiring creatures.

Pliosaurs dominated the oceans at a time when dinosaurs roamed the land. The unearthed fossil is about 150 million years old, almost 3 million years younger than any other pliosaur find. Researchers are analyzing the specimen to determine whether it could even be a species new to science.

Originally spotted in spring 2022, the fossil, along with its complicated excavation and ongoing scientific investigation, are now detailed in the upcoming BBC documentary “Attenborough and the Jurassic Sea Monster,” presented by legendary naturalist Sir David Attenborough, that will air February 14 on PBS.

Such was the enormous size of the carnivorous marine reptile that the skull, excavated from a cliff along Dorset’s “Jurassic Coast,” is almost 2 meters (6.6 feet) long. In its fossilized form, the specimen weighs over half a metric ton. Pliosaurs species could grow to 15 meters (50 feet) in length, according to Encyclopaedia Britannica.

The fossil was buried deep in the cliff, about 11 meters (36 feet) above the ground and 15 meters (49 feet) down the cliff, local paleontologist Steve Etches, who helped uncover it, said in a video call.

Extracting it proved a perilous task, one fraught with danger as a crew raced against the clock during a window of good weather before summer storms closed in and the cliff eroded, possibly taking the rare and significant fossil with it.

Etches first learned of the fossil’s existence when his friend Philip Jacobs called him after coming across the pliosaur’s snout on the beach. Right from the start, they were “quite excited, because its jaws closed together which indicates (the fossil) is complete,” Etches said.

After using drones to map the cliff and identify the rest of the pliosaur’s precise position, Etches and his team embarked on a three-week operation, chiseling into the cliff while suspended in midair.

“It’s a miracle we got it out,” he said, “because we had one last day to get this thing out, which we did at 9:30 p.m.”

Etches took on the task of painstakingly restoring the skull. There was a time he found “very disillusioning” as the mud, and bone, had cracked, but “over the following days and weeks, it was a case of …, like a jigsaw, putting it all back. It took a long time but every bit of bone we got back in.”

It’s a “freak of nature” that this fossil remains in such good condition, Etches added. “It died in the right environment, there was a lot of sedimentation … so when it died and went down to the seafloor, it got buried quite quickly.”

Fearsome top predator of the seas

The nearly intact fossil illuminates the characteristics that made the pliosaur a truly fearsome predator, hunting prey such as the dolphinlike ichthyosaur. The apex predator with huge razor-sharp teeth used a variety of senses, including sensory pits still visible on its skull that may have allowed it to detect changes in water pressure, according to the documentary.

The pliosaur had a bite twice as powerful as a saltwater crocodile, which has the world’s most powerful jaws today, according to Emily Rayfield, a professor of paleobiology at the University of Bristol in the United Kingdom who appeared in the documentary. The prehistoric marine predator would have been able to cut into a car, she said.

Andre Rowe, a postdoctoral research associate of paleobiology at the University of Bristol, added that “the animal would have been so massive that I think it would have been able to prey effectively on anything that was unfortunate enough to be in its space.”

By Issy Ronald.

[boinday]

The God and The Devil

Just a little folk-gothic about loneliness, the countryside, and keeping a cat. For the spooky season! 1.8k words ^_^ (Copyright Bóín Day 2024)

---------

There's a fire in the garden. Again.

I step outside, careful to close the sliding glass door behind me so Cock Robin can't get out. He prowls the length of the glass with performative indifference, pretending he only follows so far to rub his whiskers against the doorframe. Pretending not to notice the orange flames spitting up into the blue-dark twilight sky.

I take the watering can, already full, from the patio and walk to the center of the garden, where the effigy burns. It is bigger than the last one. About as tall as my knee. I douse it before it catches in the dry summer grass.

Our cottage is in the middle of County Leitrim. In that typical part of Leitrim where nothing really is. I bought it because I could afford it, derelict and rotting as it was, surrounded by a sea of disused fields, twenty kilometers from the nearest shop. It still cost more than my parents' first home; a restored Victorian townhouse purchased in the eighties. I do what I can with the cottage. Funnel all my earnings into making it habitable. Close off the rooms that drive me into despair. I think I got Cock Robin because I was lonely. Or because he was lonely. I can't remember which.

I remember I found him quite endearing at the shelter, though. He is a peculiar shade of brown for a cat – almost chocolatey – with a striking ginger breast by contrast. His eyes are yellow, and suspicious. He's large and fat, and maligned by a snaggletooth that gives him a permanent sneer. Despite his unfortunate face, he is docile, cuddly, and a formidable companion. I don't blame him completely for what's happened, though he must think I do. Why else would he be confined to the house, he thinks. Why else would his dear mother jail him.

Cock Robin, for all his lazy mornings and babyish ways, is a talented and voracious hunter. I never exactly approved of him catching mice, but I suppose I tacitly endorsed it by allowing him outside, into the fields where he was undoubtedly the apex predator. At first I would only find pieces of the mice: a half body, a dismembered foot, an internal organ licked clean of blood.

But as Cock Robin acclimatised to the good life of being a kept cat, and gradually grew rounder from tinned tuna and cold cuts of chicken, he must have grown bored with the taste of mice. Because more and more often, he would bring them home alive.

He would bring them home alive, and with them stunned and confused between his careful teeth, he would howl for my attention. Once I would rise from whatever task I was at, he would wait for me to approach, present his quarry, and kill it in front of me. People say this is a cat's way of teaching hapless humans how to hunt, and perhaps they are right. But from the way Cock Robin would proudly deposit the poor creature on the step, whole but for the killing wounds, and bounce along to the cupboard where he knows I keep his treats, I think this ritual is more akin to a crude, kitty capitalism.

'I have rendered you the service for which our two species coexist,' Cock Robin says with his closed eyes and loud purr. 'Now I shall collect my fee.'

I don't like to watch things die. Even spiders, which I hate, I can't bring myself to kill. Even indoor plants, which are a chore to keep, I endeavour to save from my own habitual neglect. And now even mice, already trapped in the jaws of death, I am compelled by my conscience to rescue. Cock Robin objects to my charity, but he is stupid enough to trust my approach whenever he has some poor living thing in his maw, and once I am close enough, I grab him. Sometimes he drops them instinctively when he hears my stern demands, and sometimes I must pry his mouth open, but he always gives up without much fight.

The difficulty then is re-catching the mouse. I keep gardening gloves by the sliding door for this task, now. If they are sufficiently traumatized, I can simply scoop them up, walk to one of the neighbouring fields, and gently release them into the long grass. If they are lucid, though, they jump away; run, climb, scramble for their life. Those times are harder – especially if Cock Robin is still in the room. But I always catch them. Once they're out of his teeth, I find a way to cup them, grab them, cradle them. Out they go to the fields. Alive to survive another day.

I must have caught at least a dozen mice when the first gift appeared. I didn't know it was a gift then, of course. It was four raspberries, piled together on the doormat. I'm sure I thought it was odd at the time, but I simply picked them up and set them on a fence-post for the birds.

A few days later there were twenty raspberries. A whole punnet's worth. I certainly thought that was odd, and it ignited some paranoia in me. There are no other houses in sight of my cottage, only fields. Not even cattle graze there, so there is little cause for anyone to come out as far as my place on the quiet country road. I fretted about axe wielding maniacs, countryside bandits, the sort of nightmarish characters you might hear about on a True Crime podcast. Of course, as far as threats go, raspberries are a tame and obscure one. Hardly worth calling the Gards over. I think I mentioned it to some friends, and they laughed like I was crazy. I think I laughed too. I didn't want to be crazy.

The raspberries continued to appear for weeks, sometimes with a whole apple rolled into the mix, sometimes ornately arranged among picked daisies and buttercups. I tried to ignore them. Hoped if they rotted on the step, that would send a message. But the damaged, old raspberries were removed in the night, and replenished with fresh ones by morning.

At a certain point, I decided it was best to just wait up. I drank three cups of coffee and, with heart pounding and carving knife in hand, sat in the perfect dark of my kitchen, and waited.

It was just before dawn when I saw them. I'd imagined every manner of strange or dangerous person, - I'd spent the night staring at the middle of the glass door, the height you would expect a person to stand - and so I almost missed them. The tiny, moving bumps of darkness scuttling along the ground towards the door. It looked like the patio stones had come to life, and were rippling towards the cottage in little waves.

I stood and approached. Quite a stupid thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it anyway. I could see them in their droves: hundreds of mice removing the old, imperfect fruit and rolling in the new. Some of them carried the flowers in teams of two or three. I crouched slowly by the glass door, enraptured by their industrious energy. By the sophistication of the endeavour.

One of them must have noticed me, and the noticing spread, because almost instantly the bustling and bumbling little bodies went still. I went still as well. It was relatively dark out, the sky just lightening to a gloomy blue, but I could tell they were looking at me. Then, in another wave of collective movement, their bodies stretched upward – stretched towards the heavens, tiny front paws raised above their mousey heads – and then fell down again. Prostrating themselves on the ground.

I watched the motion repeat several times, paws stretching skyward, then falling back down, before I realised I was watching some strange, cultish worship. They were bowing to me. They were bowing to me.

I ran away, as any rational person would. I closed myself into my bedroom with Cock Robin, who was sleeping none the wiser. And I thought about how truly impossible it is to keep a mouse out of your home, if the mouse has a mind to get in.

It was the following week that Cock Robin was attacked. He came in from the fields, mewling in a pitiful manner I'd never heard from him before. There was a piece of wood lodged in his right eye, about as big as a toothpick. I rushed him to the vet. They couldn't save the eye. An unfortunate accident, they supposed. A mishap while Cock Robin was climbing through a hedge. We agreed he ought to be an indoor cat from then on.

Now they've taken a liking to effigies.

I kick through the smoldering remains of this latest one. Their understanding of human proportions has certainly improved. I see they've stitched leaves together with plant fiber and bug silk to simulate clothing. I wonder how they learned to light the wood. I wonder if this is what we looked like, too, when man discovered fire.

I look up the length of the garden to my rotten little cottage. Cock Robin is sitting politely behind the glass door, watching me through his surviving eye, tail ticking away in simmering upset. He wants to be out here, I know. He wants to exercise his divine wrath.

I wonder, as well, how they make sense of us. It seems impossible to me, that they cannot know how dearly I love Cock Robin. How I infinitely prefer him to any little mouse, no matter what mercy my conscience mandates. How he sleeps beside me, inside the cottage that is so alien and fortified compared to the world of empty fields around it. I suppose it is a contradiction inherent, that they should give me tribute while reviling the cat I openly adore.

I suppose that even God adored Lucifer, once.

I stomp out the last of the embers and wriggle my phone out of my pocket. I've been photographing these things, for posterity – not that anyone would believe them. It would be written off as some natural phenomenon, or AI fakery, or perhaps they'd simply say I'm lying. I photograph it anyway.

Trudging back towards my cottage, I turn on the phone's flashlight. This is a newly formed habit. I hold the light above my head and sweep it over the neighbouring field, in an arc. Tiny pinpricks of light glow back at me. An ocean of beady eyes, watching in the darkness.

I shout at them to go away, please. I say that I have nothing for them, and thank them for their worship but I'd really rather they just move on. There's no response. There never is. They cannot understand my prayers. I am too huge and powerful to be understood. But still, I pray.

[naffeclipse]

Little Chicks

Penguin!Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

I'm so excited to share this fic! The lovely @pluck-heartstrings requested a continuation of Cardinal Instincts with a mix of fluff and typical Orca Eclipse with some angst/backstory for the harpy reader! I also enjoy writing baby sirens Sun and Moon as well <3

Content Warning for mentions of death and angst.

———

Tiny flukes flip along the ocean’s surface. You watch the siren young closely, perched on the edge of the ice with your winged arms folded tightly against you. Though you’ve grown used to how the orca siren tests the babes’ abilities, your heart flutters nonetheless whenever one sinks a little too deep below the surface without acquiring a deep enough breath and you must swallow back a squawk of fear when the other gives anxious, tired chirps after swimming for a moment too long.

But Eclipse is there, scooping the little ones into his hands, and if they refuse to calm, he presses them into your lap and allows the familiar, comforting touch of your plumage to soothe them.

Your siren young, you remember. Emotion thickens in your throat as Sun flips his tail, flashing cream and golden colors. The orca siren child struggles across the shallow water in the half-submerged alcove. Moon’s teeth gnash together as he whines. Eclipse chirrs gently, encouraging the children as if they were of his own blood. It still surprises you that they are not, with their eyes each containing at least one yellow or scarlet hue. The brothers share a blue color to their gaze, however, and confirm that they are twins.

The icy alcove sheltering them from the harsher, direct light outside is comfortable. Though it’s far from your natural habitat of flat icy plains with plenty of diving holes into the water, you’ve dared to settle into this home.

Eclipse courts you still, and though you both share the work of caring for the siren young, he makes it clear with a flash of his hungry eyes that you are the only mate for him. The only one who will raise Sun and Moon with him.

You watch him now, while the boys occupy his attention. His sleek, black and white form dipped in deep red and dark orange is lethal in every capacity. He is the apex predator of the seas. His body is lithe with toned, sleek muscle. His jaws split wide into a maw full of shark-like teeth. Yet, his claws curl carefully over Moon while he lifts him back to the surface, and the soft sounds of the babe’s sputtering pull your muscles taut, insisting you dive after the babe. 

An instinct within understands how easily Eclipse’s natural weapons can turn on you, could rip you apart to feed his young, but then Sun is squeaking in anger. Eclipse turns to him quickly. He rumbles a soothing hum while holding Moon in the crook of his arm and gathering Sun in his other hand. His gentleness is always at the ready for his adoptive children. Your heart softens.

The siren lifts his eyes to you. In the light that refracts from the ocean surface and icy walls, his gaze glows brighter, hungrier. A shiver falls down your spine. How naturally your body remembers your place in the food chain. He closes the distance. His dorsal fin arches high behind him while strong, smooth motions of his tail push him until he’s looming over you on the shelf of ice you reside on.

A pulse starts in your throat. You gaze up at him, small and easily devoured, but he leans closer to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. The thick feathers covering your body ruffle under his persistent touch. A soft squawk escapes your mouth at the graze of his teeth over your sensitive, vulnerable throat.

“Sun and Moon must be getting hungry,” you breathe, fighting the heat that longs to stain your fluffy cheeks.

“They’ve worked up an appetite,” he agrees over the sharp squeaks and chirps of their demands. “They’re getting stronger.”

And hungrier, you note. Eclipse has been a provider, killing and retrieving meals of squid and other soft meat for the boys to tear apart with their nubby teeth. Eclipse explained to you once that these milk teeth will fall out once the boys have grown enough and will be replaced by sharper, more capable incisors. 

It might have scared other harpies like yourself to know these children who depend on you for food and warmth will soon become as capable and dangerous as Eclipse, but only a swell of pride fills you with the thought. They will become strong. They will thrive and no one will ever harm them. A gentle need to watch them flourish propels you to open your arms.

“When will you hunt for food?” you ask softly. Your dainty clawed fingers brush gently against the squirming, wet forms of Sun and Moon held in the crook of Eclipse’s arms.

A low grumble, deep and chilling, rolls through the orca siren and into you. You still when this jaws nears your lips. The press of his forceful kiss pushes you back slightly, and you give an indignant squeak under his mouth, tasting you like he may or may not sample the flesh hidden under your feathers.

“I’ll go now, birdie,” he murmurs. “I won’t keep Sun and Moon hungry. Wait here for me.”

He draws back to capture your gaze with his own. The intensity of his eyes, one red, one yellow, pierces you with the strength of the sun. A desire to look away, to shrink from underneath his power nearly takes you, but he growls softly.

“Be good, birdie.”

“I will,” you answer, then immediately flush. 

He nods smugly then presses a kiss to your cheek. You close your eyes though you are no less attuned to the sharp squeaks of protest of being slightly squashed between yours and his exchanges of fondness.

“Eclipse,” you mumble against his mouth, “The babies.”

A chortle escapes from his wicked jaws as he parts from you. At least, he eases Moon then Sun into your arms. The most natural embrace overtakes you as you cradle the precious siren young, though they are steadily growing, becoming just a little bigger for your arms than a regular chick might have been. It doesn’t matter to you. They are slick, warm, and safe.

Sun chirps soften into babbling chatter, his wide eyes beautiful and bright. On your other arm, Moon turns against your chest. His little nubby fingers grasp your feathers, clenching and unclenching, as his mouth roams for milk he will not find here.

“It’s alright, little chicks,” you coo at your children. “Your bellies will be filled shortly.”

You spare a glance at Eclipse, prodding him with a look but he lingers on the edge of the ice shelf. You lift your head, curious.

“They’re hungry,” you remind.

“I know, birdie.” His gaze slips into something like snowmelt as if he finds you simply adorable. “You’re beautiful. I simply had to admire how you take care of them.”

Your mouth opens but silence tumbles out. 

He flashes a wicked grin to your dismay. Pushing off of the ice shelf, the orca siren dives out of the alcove and leaves you simmering with pink heat. Your words fail on your tongue, but there is little you can say to the orca siren who has decided to make you his.

You are unable to resist sinking softly in the after waves of his boldness and courting gestures. A small pile of beautiful stones and gems has piled in the far corner of the ice shelf. Tokens of his love. Each beautiful pebble made you believe he couldn’t find a better one, and each time, he has proven you wrong. 

Pebbles are for building nests for a chick. To accept a pebble is to build towards a future, to prepare for the young that will come once two penguin harpies agree to be mates.

You press the memory of a small nest and a tiny, new life away from your thoughts. A nibble along your fingers draws your attention. Gazing down at Moon gnawing his nubby teeth along your hand, you smile. You gently free your fingers and stroke his head, sliding along the deep midnight blue appendage that falls down his head. The small bulb at the end is frilly and yellow. 

“Oh, my darling,” you murmur in a soft voice. You slip back along the ice shelf, waddling carefully to not slip with the babes in your arms before gently rearranging them to rest in your lap. Wrapping your winged arms around them, they will stay warm.

A sharp squeak turns your head towards Sun. Hunger rips through him loud and clear. You laugh gently as he begins wiggling, impatiently and restlessly. His sharp, golden, and white gold fins crowning his head twist importantly with the jerks of his head.

“I know, my love, I know,” you softly cup his cheek and pull him closer to your chest, holding him to keep him from slipping away. “Your father is getting you squid. Patience, Sun.”

The high-pitched demanding chirp that falls from him squeezes your heart. He is far too loud, too excited, and you laugh. Softly taking Moon against you as well, you lean back against the alcove wall and try to hum. They adore when Eclipse sings to them, but his vocal cords are powerful and entwined with magic. Yours are too strained and, in a word, unfit for a lullaby. The best you can give them is your warmth and protection. 

Your adoptive children.

Your mind drifts to a distant echo of sharp chirps. Insistent, hungry, and then, silent. 

A slow collapse shuts away your throat. Your hum cuts short.

The memory takes you like an ocean wave, pushing you down, deeper and deeper until you can no longer breathe.

Your chick was so small. He was beautiful. He chirped fiercely. Then he did not make a sound at all.

Shoulders heaving, your breath becomes ragged. It scrapes out of your throat. Your chest tightens. Tiny bodies squirm in your arms, little fingers sinking into your plumage and grip tightly, demanding attention, but your vision is far, far away, lost on an empty ice plain dusted in snow.

You held your little chick in your arms. He didn’t move. Your mate told you to let him go.

You couldn’t. You didn’t, not until your mate pried him from your hands and forced you to leave him, to let the snow bury him and the ice creep over him until he was cradled in the Antarctic cold forever. He has to be warm. You were keeping him warm.

What did you do wrong?

No one answered. 

A splash echoes in the distance. Wiggling bodies attempt to crawl away from you, eager chirps filling the air, but your vision is blurred over ice and water. A deep, abysmal voice calls out. You don’t answer.

You hold tighter to Sun and Moon, clinging to them. Their tiny voices grow louder as they fill with hunger. 

Another wash of water echoes throughout the alcove, and then a shadow looms over you. Something wet splats just a few inches onto the ice shelf. Then, a low rumble and claws crack the ice, dragging over the uneven terrain.

A hand falls on your shoulder. Claws threaten to sink into your flesh.

“Birdie, what’s wrong?”

A gasp wretches from you. You blink, staring up at the looming orca siren. His eyes blaze, searching for threats and wounds, but only finding you unlocking your fierce grip from Sun and Moon. The babies gleefully slip away from you. Their wiggling tails flip and flap, and Eclipse watches them carefully before pinning you with his stare again.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” he demands, growling with an abysmal darkness.

“No,” you gasp, “No, the babies—they need to eat.”

Eclipse hovers. When did he pull himself onto the ice? His tail sweeps along the cold terrain, his flukes curling to form a barrier between you and the water. You want to shrink. You want to bow your head and swim away—it wouldn’t be so different from when the colony decided you couldn’t stay any longer. 

A mush pile of chomped squid lies near Eclipse’s side fin. The siren young cry out. Slowly, Eclipse takes Moon, then Sun, setting them down by the food so they can begin tearing the soft flesh apart in their young moths. Securing them in the bow of his tail, he turns back to you.

“Birdie, tell me what is going on. I will make it right.” His clawed hands cup your face. You want to fall back, push him away until you can escape.

You can’t leave. Even wandering, you were trapped with what you’ve done.

Fear and shame form into a fine, frozen layer within you. You can’t look at Eclipse. His hand insists, pushing you by the chin until you're locked under his gaze again. 

“Be good, birdie. Tell me so I might rip apart whatever is causing you such pain,” he insists, snarling just under his breath. You tremble and touch his arm.

“I,” you gasp and it wheezes through you. Your throat closes up. You look once to Sun and Moon devouring their meal, unaware of their harpy parent dissolving into sea foam. “I was driven from my colony.” 

Something snaps within you. A great and terrible acceptance. A truth so ugly and rotten, you have no hope of holding its broken bones.

Eclipse’s jaw slackens. Teeth no longer bared, he slowly tilts his head.

“Why?” his eyes narrow.

He’ll know now you are unfit. He won’t have you raising his babies. You won’t hold Sun and Moon again.

You close your eyes and whisper, “I tried to steal another’s chick.”

Eclipse’s thumb slowly brushes along the fluff covering your cheek. 

“Go on,” he says in a shockingly gentle and low voice, as if you needed a lullaby in the dark of night, “Tell me, birdie. It’s alright.”

You quake. Opening your eyes slowly, you are filled with Eclipse’s soft gaze. His attention is fierce, ever sharp, but when he holds you, everything else falls to the wayside. 

A rattling breath fills your lungs.

“My baby,” your voice cracks. Eclipse’s gaze widens. “My poor baby died. He was so small… I don’t know why.”

“Such things can happen,” he says so firmly, you long to believe him, “It’s not kind, but little ones simply don’t endure by no fault of their own nor yours.”

“Eclipse, wait,” you grasp onto him tighter. He is your last island in the sea of your grief. He doesn’t understand.

“What of your mate?” he asks instead, his teeth glint.

“He left me,” you say quietly. A fact you have accepted long ago. Whenever you looked at him, you only felt the same grief again. “After my—our chick died, he left.”

Eclipse dips his head in the slightest, not exactly pleased, but reassured, in some way. You don’t know what to make of his expression.

“Then what became of you?” he asks in his growling cords.

You quake. 

“I don’t know why I did it. I just couldn’t stand it. Everyone with their chicks, hearing their little cries. I was alone,” you pull in a breathless gasp, “I didn’t stop myself. One little chick was unattended, for just a moment. Her mother was looking away. I wasn’t thinking at all. I just did it—I swooped in and stole the babe.”

Eclipse rumbles deep within his chest. You glance anxiously at Sun and Moon. Sounds escape Sun even as he chews vigorously. Moon is quiet, slurping down a tentacle. Eclipse draws a black-bone claw down your cheek, returning your attention to him.

“What happened?” he asks softly.

“I tried to feed her, but she refused to take any food from my mouth.” A strained sound, like a sob, escapes your throat. Eclipse hushes you softly, stroking the back of your feathered head. “She was crying—I told her I was her momma but she wouldn’t stop.”

The tiny babe was not your own, though just as small and hungry and fierce. The chirps were just a little off. They weren’t your babe’s.

Your heart twists. How could you ever have your little chick back? How could you try and replace one by taking from another? You were selfish and mad. You were trying to force another mother to go through what you just had.

“She wasn’t yours,” Eclipse answers simply, as if he might understand wanting something so terribly, and doing awful things to have it, but not being able to keep it.

You hold his gaze, wetness blurring your vision.

“It was cruel of me.” You shudder again. “They caught me. The colony decided I could no longer be a part of them. They sent me away. I could never return.”

Eclipse is silent for several heartbeats. You sit, heavy with shame and grief. His flukes brush against the little ones eating. A small complaint of being bothered during their meal rises in a sharp squeak. You glance over them, wishing to pull Sun and Moon into your arms again. What if you can never hold them again?

“That’s why you were waddling alone.” Eclipse sweeps a claw down your temple, almost touching your eye. Your eyelids flutter, and a great fear takes over you. Does he not want you anymore? Has he decided you will make a better meal than a parent?

“I still don’t know why I did it,” you mumble. You felt mad. You still feel unstable with loss and emptiness. You could only take and take to try and fill up the gaping place left within you. The baby you love so dearly was gone without a whimper.

And now two little sirens need your care. They are so beautiful and precious. Your heart bobs within you for longing to tend to them.

“You wanted your child back,” Eclipse hums. Your eyes lift to him, stained with tears. “You love your child. Now you have two little ones who need you. And you have been a beautiful mother to them.”

Stunned into silence, you blink. “You… you still want me?”

Eclipse chortles, looking at you as if you were simply precious.

“I have already chosen you as my mate. I have witnessed how tenderly you tend to Sun and Moon. I will have no one else but you, birdie.” He leans in and kisses your tear-wet cheeks. Your feathers ruffle underneath his affection. “Breathe, and when you are ready, you will hold our children again.”

Our children.

You cling tightly to Eclipse for one moment. His eyes widen. Leaning up, you lay a kiss on the corner of his mouth and smear salty tears on his maw unwittingly. You hope he doesn’t mind. All the while, he holds very, very still.

“They’re my little chicks,” you whisper.

“They are,” he rasps softly. Eclipse holds you until the Sun and Moon finish eating. Their cries of attention are answered as the orca siren scoops them up, one by one, and places them in your arms.

Your family.

[vampmallow]

Morning Surprise

Leon Kennedy x Afab!Reader

Cw: NSFW, Oral F receiving, Shower Sex.

The alarm clock's persistent beeping was the only sound in the room, piercing the early morning silence like an unwelcome intrusion. The curtains remained drawn, the ever-slowly rising sun's gentle glow hinting at its impending arrival. You stirred, groaning softly as you reached out to silence the annoying device, your hand fumbling through the sea of pillows and empty space beside you. The bed felt cold, starkly contrasting with the warmth that usually lingered in your partner's presence.

As your eyes slowly adjusted to the early morning, you felt a tender kiss on your neck, followed by the brush of a hand across your thigh. You froze, the realization sinking in that Leon had returned from his night shift and had decided on a more intimate way to wake you up. His breath was warm and lingered on your chest before he ducked back down. A low chuckle vibrated against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to give away your pleasure.

With the grace of a predator, Leon slithered further down the bed, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The anticipation was almost unbearable as his hands traced the contours of your body, his fingers dancing over your waist and hips before reaching the apex of your thighs. He pushed the blanket aside, the cool air kissing your skin as it was exposed to the early morning chill. You felt the soft press of his lips against your inner thigh, his unintentionally grown-out stubble a pleasant abrasion that had you gripping the sheets.

The first touch of his tongue was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. You held your breath, willing yourself not to make a sound. His movements grew more confident, his tongue exploring and teasing with a skill that made it clear he wasn't new to this. He took his time, savoring every inch of you, his teeth grazing your clit just enough to make you squirm. His tongue made quick trips in and out of you, lapping up your liquids every time. The tension grew, tightening like a coil ready to snap.

Leon's hands cupped your ass, holding you in place as he licked and nibbled with increasing fervor. The pressure built, your muscles tensed, and you could feel the heat pooling between your legs. The room was silent except for the sound of your quiet gasps and the wetness of his mouth against your skin. The world outside had ceased to exist, replaced by the sensation of his tongue flicking against your clit, the steady rhythm of his fingers now sliding in and out of you, and the warmth of his breath as he murmured sweet nothings that only served to fan the flames of your desire.

You were so close, the edge of orgasm just within reach, when Leon abruptly stopped. He chuckled again, low and deep, as he pulled away, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. "Good morning," he whispered, his voice a dark rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Time to wake up properly." He kissed you softly on the cheek before getting out of bed, leaving you to watch the play of muscles across his back as he stretched and moved towards the bathroom. The smell of his cologne lingered in the air, a potent reminder of his presence as you lay there, utterly spent and desperate for more.

The sound of the shower starting was your cue. You pushed the blankets aside and followed him, the cool floorboards a shock to your bare feet. The bathroom was filled with steam, the mirrors fogging up from the hot water. Leon was already under the spray, the water sluicing over his body, turning his skin a rosy pink. He turned to face you, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he held out a hand. "Care to join me?"

Without a word, you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over you, mingling with the chill from the room. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and he kissed you deeply, his tongue mimicking the motions from moments before. You could taste yourself on his lips, a heady mix of desire and need that only made you want him more. His hands roamed over your body, soaping up your skin, his calloused palms leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

As the water rained down on you both, Leon turned you around, pressing you against the tiles. He bent you over slightly, the heat of his body enveloping you from behind. His hands slid down your body to grip your hips, his breath hot against your ear. "Ready for round two?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. You nodded, unable to form words as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance.

He pushed in slowly, filling you completely, the sensation making you gasp. He didn't stop there, moving in a steady rhythm that had you panting and begging for more. The water pounded against your skin as he claimed you, the steam wrapping around you like a cocoon of passion. Each thrust was punctuated by the slap of skin on skin, the sound echoing in the small space. Your hands grasped at the tiles, your nails digging in as you tried to hold on, your body moving in sync with his.

The water grew warmer as the minutes ticked by, the steam thickening until it was hard to breathe. But you didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of Leon inside you, the way he made your body come alive with every stroke. The tension grew again, coiling tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold back any longer. You screamed out his name as you came, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. He followed shortly after, his grip on your hips tightening as he found his own release.

When it was over, you leaned against him, your chests heaving with exertion. The water continued to cascade over you, washing away the sweat and the evidence of your passion. Leon kissed the back of your neck, his breathing ragged. "Best way to start the day," he murmured. And as you looked into the mirror, flushed and satisfied, you couldn't help but agree. The sun was rising outside, and you had a feeling that today would be anything but ordinary.

Authors note- Hiii!!! This is my first post on here, so I hope you enjoyed it!! If this gets decent attraction, or people reach out to me, I’ll post a master list and open requests! Aside from that, I have some pretty cool stuff I’ve written for some other fandoms I’d like to share too, some cool series and stuff! Anyways, hope you have a great day and if you’re reading to the end love you MWAH 💋

[sukioyakio]

thoughts

an:I have no idea what I’m writing about 😭🙏im not expecting this post to do well but pls enjoy

The most fearful,powerful, destructive yet most beautiful,remarkable,and divine being in all the seas. Sukuna ryomen,the most fearsome siren half mermaid in the oceans.

Siren Sukuna who lures pirates with his illustrations and voice toward him to easily become his food.

Siren Sukuna who has been living for hundreds of years,knows everything about the sea.(yet has no real clue how different living is in land)

Siren Sukuna Who gone completely bored from his killing,and stays inside a cave right outside a city .Where he doesn’t have to be bothered by pirates or outsiders.But even that doesn’t stop some people,someone like you.

Siren Sukuna who was just laying down on a rock to relax his large body for his fish scales to smooth out,as he was just staring into the little pond in the cave.Then he hears a small groans from what seems like a human.As he just Silently watches in the shadows of the caves.

“ow..shit this is going to hurt”You mutter underneath your breath,as you wince from the blood dripping down your knees.As you takes yourself in darker into the cave as the pond was the only light. As you lay down panting on breath.

”At least I was able to put ran the City gruads” You whisper to yourself brushing your hair with your hands and swiping off the sweat.

Sukuna who completely in the dark looking at you,with amusement.Seeing how long it takes you to know that there’s a apex predator right in-front of you.He doesn’t care about the thought of killing you right now.

He flaps his fins to at least scratch his body, making a loud noise and with that,it made you start worrying.

“What was that??” You whisper as your eyes search around the the dark cave and pond to find nothing,because of the darkness.You tried to get your body back up but fails miserably from the pain of your knees. Instead you shakily talk up to whatever is in the cave with you.

“h-hhello is there any-o-one here?” You announced in the darkness as your heart pounds loudly against your chest. Which in the small distance where Sukuna is across from you watches this,it just makes him laugh at how scrawny of a human you are.

His dark laughter makes you squeal in fear as You finally found the person who here.You locked on to Sukuna ruby like eyes,and glances at his body and seeing the multiple scales he had in his body and how the left side of his eyes had a dark brown scar that does nothing but enhance his eyes.

Siren Sukuna who’s founded to be seeing such a weak pathetic human,It almost makes him feel sort of pity for you almost.He would feel your eyes on his face,scanning him with your fearsome eyes.And then within a second his inside the pond that set a barrier between you two.His body completely covered in water as he swims towards you and continues to laugh at your scared little face as you move backwards until your pushed into the wall.

Siren Sukuna ,Who see how your body shake in fear of seeing his canine teeth’s as he make a sly grin.He quiet literally having fun with scaring you,he had always had fun seeing the faces of fear painting across his food.

“What should I do with you,since your completely at my mercy” He announce with a cruel smirk that shows his sharp canine teeth’s.

“Please!!Dont eat me!Im Promise that I’ll never come here again and-and Plus I’m not even that delicious,I’ll probably t-taste like ..trash”You said you said frankly as you small tears began to roll down your cheeks.

He rolled his eyes at your response,As he get out the water now half his body out the water and in front of you,as the water from his body create a little pool of water below him.

He scoffed at how unoriginal your response was. “What makes you think I haven’t heard that same speech before brat,This is really starting to bored me”His says at the end of his voice dropping an octave lower making him more imitating then already.

”umm!!I’ll give you my l-lifee if-f in exchange to be able get to live again,and-and you get to-to whatever you want- to -to me” You spoke rapidly and bit shakily about it as you close your eyes and starts to mutter prayers to yourself.

Siren Sukuna who is amuse by how fucking stuipd of a human you had to be,but he stood there staring at you dumbfounded by your deal.But he thinks maybe he could use you for entertainment in his daily life.And so he looks at you,staring down at you like a hawk. The second he saw you opened your eyes he stab his nailed into your wonded knees making you scream and he quickly uses his other hand to knock you out with his hand.

———

and that would be the deal that got you In this mess,but also meet someone who’s a total asshole sweat -heart. Everyday would be some new torture (it wasn’t really a torturous thing just Sukuna mocking and bully her/you) to deal with.

But this deal would make him have feelings that he couldn’t even fathom the thought of having until he met a weak scrawny,helpless human. Example would be annoying the fuck out of him,Having low patience for your stuipdy,making him wonder how the hell are you good at stealing but a total dumbass when it come to survival instincts.

A human now bond with a Sea creature of Beaty and death.

if anyone wants to see more of this,please tell me in comments,and please share your opinion or suggestions with it.

Made by @sukioyakio

Edited:PART TWO IS OUT next>

[mochinomnoms]

I have the strong urge to feed the eels, they have such need teeth i want to see them bite into things. I feel like i would get my fingers nipped though.

From what I found while researching, I don't believe morays actually have a high prey drive (I could be wrong tho)! So them nipping at your fingers is a very conscious choice more than anything, lol. Floyd is more likely to take a nip at you just to see your expression, and of the two is the more bitey one. Jade will also nip at you, but in a more so teasing manner. You've become so comfortable around an apex predator! He does still have a powerful bite and a second set of jaws, maybe you shouldn't keep your guard so down, fuhuhuhu~

Feeding them though…that's such an intimate activity for them! Food can be limited, and you're always a meal for someone else in the sea. The act of sharing food is a cherished act reserved for lovers and children, for people you care about and want to ensure their health. If you've been courting for a while, and then you decide you want to hand feed them their favorite treats, don't be surprised by the spontaneous proposal they might give you.

[maiko-coy]

That mermay comic you made. Are they fighting because of territorial dispute? Is Sun attempting to protect the diver? Or is it as simple as they hate each other?

Its actually a mix of all three!

Both Sun and Moon are apex predators. I'll try to explain this in both of their perspectives: Sun: 1.) The territorial dispute is more sensible on Sun's side because diver is stranded in a shallow area, somewhere where the light of the sun can reach and hence, where Sun strives. Moon is the intruder, in this case. 2.) Sun's perspective of diver is like watching a lost baby fish trying to survive on its own and Sun may or may not had immediately adopted them as a part of his pod. Hence, the protective/doting attitude. So yes, it is his instinct to protect the diver. 3.) Sun has a backstory with Moon that indeed ends up them hating on each other. Moon used to be part of his pod. Moon: 1.) Moon is a deep sea creature and his territory is definitely not on the shallows, so him being in the shallows is suspicious. However, Moon met diver first than Sun. Its a rocky first impression but Moon does end up warming up to them. While he did not consider diver as a pod member, he does consider them as an interest and may have marked them as an extension to his territory. Basically, he's saying that he owns diver in some weird fishy way. This explains his equally territorial response to Sun when he saw that diver was way too near Sun. 2.) Moon hates Sun for what he did back before. Sun used to be part of his pod.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hey, how would the siren guys react to a whale shark mc? Heheee, :0 (whale shark face) fella

HEEEE

Sans: Since whale sharks are filter feeders, she's technically a mermaid!

I imagine that a whale shark Mc is incredibly chill and relaxed. She's very big, very beautiful, and very friendly... adult whale sharks don't really have anything to fear, so she's easygoing and sweet-natured with pretty much everyone.

She thinks he's handsome, and very smart. Orca would only pose a realistic threat to her if they approached in a big group, but he's alone- she's not even slightly worried. She asks him about life as a predator, his adventures around the world, she dreams of seeing the poles but she's not built for staying in cold water. He entertains her with stories of the arctic.

... Sans isn't used to encountering mermaids who aren't terrified of him. He isn't used to encountering sirens who aren't terrified of him. She talks to him like he's a normal person, engages with him... it actually makes him less insane and murderous, as it's the first time he's been treated like a person since his pod died. He naturally becomes deeply attached to her... she's delighted he wants to keep her company and she welcomes his presence. They're 'best friends' that travel around together. It's good that she's a filter feeder, because though he'd absolutely kill for her, he has no need to.

Red: Red loves a big beautiful lady. This is one of the fundamental laws of the universe. The bigger the better- and she's literally the biggest shark out there. What's not to love? He's head over heels. His only regret is that they can't seriously play fight, because she could probably snap him in half. That's hot- but it would be inappropriate in public.

She loves his attention. Sure, Sans is handsome, but... well, Red is literally the ideal by shark standards. Being a filter feeder doesn't make her resistant to his scars, his teeth, his charms. She giggles when he calls her majestic, she flushes when he says he'd like to sightsee coral reefs with her. But she doesn't really take his flirting seriously. She thinks he'd want a girlfriend who's more aggressive, an apex like him- someone with more 'bite'. She's seen how feisty female tiger sharks are. She's not like that.

Sans is absolutely seething that this asshole is trying to steal his girlfriend. They're regularly at each other's throats when her back is turned. It's very easy for her to break up their fights, though, since she physically overpowers them both.

Skull: Pretty similar to Sans, in respect to Mc being sweet and friendly has the dual effect of calming him down but also driving him kinda wild for her. Whale sharks do occasionally make dives to deeper water, so it makes sense their paths would cross.

He's enraptured. She's like a big, friendly angel, her pattern is literally rays of sun. He wants to be near to someone who isn't afraid of him. He's a little heartbroken he can't bring her food gifts, since they don't eat the same way, but pebbles still work. And he's deeply impressed by how much plankton/krill she can eat in one go.

Though the difference between them isn't as intense as it is with leaf sheep Mc, she's still a very pelagic creature, and he's a very NOT pelagic creature. She's fascinated by his completely alien, deep-sea biology. Lots of her being delighted by his light shows.

[zoomzooml]

Dragons:TNR Jörmungandr redesign (rework?) concept

(Also I know that my design pushes beyond limits of TNR animation in more than one way but here I just had fun lol)

I feel like he is not intimidating enough in original. He is very small for an "Apex predator of all dragons" (and let's remember that TNR has Giants Realm so-). I expected him to slide way longer when he was escaping his prison. He also had a lot of troubles with catching dragons (it was honestly sad to watch) And yes, as far as I know snakes are expecionally challenging to rig and animate and TNR doesn't have movie-level budget, but c'mon. It's The Final Boss. (*I think that in concept art he actually is longer so perhaps they shortened him to make animation easier (and cheaper??) considering mad speed seasons were coming out)

Sidenote - that poor danger noodle had so little of any kind of build up. It's really sad. And the first time we see him live he: did shitty jumpscare (build up was actually decent imo, but sound effect and bad animation humbled it), had short, off-screen fight with Sky Torcher after which he didn't even kill him (though he did at least leave some nasty scars and broke Torchie's tooth), and then fucked away. For me it was very underhelming.

Low quality clip for those who didn't watch (I hope Tumblr won't take it down).

Coming back to the design. I really don't like his colors. He got wings but to compensate I decided that he's not a good flier. In my mind he is an ambush hunter. And I know that THE Jörmungandr, the spawn of Loki from the myths, did not have wings, and this is pretty consistent as far as I know, but it is not THE Jörmungandr, so yeah

He is in some way mix between King Cobra, Moray Eel and sea snakes (Yellow-Lipped Sea Krait mostly). I changed his hood to be more similar in construction to a king cobra. In short, it is a bit of loose skin and ribs with the ability to move. In my design, the tips of some of the ribs poke through the skin. Now I don't think TNR would be able to animate it (But i'm not very familiar with 3D animation, especially for shows) so in show he probably would just have hood always flared. His head and sail are inspired by mooray eel because they are dope and I love them. I feel that aspects of sea snakes have died in design - they have a paddle at the end of the tail, but this has already been included in the OG design, so I don't feel the need to talk about it. However, like Sea Krait, Jörmungandr is semi-aquatic. He is much slower on land than in the water, but the difference is not as great as with Sea Krait.

I increased his size - and if he wasn't inprisoned he probably would be about 15-25% longer by now. He's old enough to be a Titan Wing but he isn't normal size - he stopped growing a bit after outgrowing average dragon of his species (let's remember that Red Death is Titan Wing as well!).

*Jörmungandr is longer but Red Death is more massive. Avarage serpents are slightly shorter than Red Death as well.

To be honest, I'm not sure if I didn't overkill it with his size. On the one hand he is large, on the other hand he is mostly long and not that massive. Idk

In addition to the scars, I think Jörmungandr would also be covered with small amounts of moss and other vegetation that started growing on him when he wasn't really active (his cave is very wet/moisty). To survive he spent almost his entire life in a state of brumation, being more active when he sensed meal approaching his reach.

Now, in my mind The Jörmungandr is the name of this particular dragon, not the whole species (Midgard Serpents? IDK), and at the same time he is not a "real" Jörmungandr from the myths. Because words cannot describe how I hate that plot.

I don't know how exactly he got his name but I think it was not because of how big he is, but because of his intelligence and mischievous soul. Again, idk.

Jörmungandr is a tragic dragon. In my version he was not trapped by Hiccup (in my version Hiccup never come back to Hidden World, because c'mon. I don't really like THW but if TNR is continity to that franchise they should follow established canon and not wreck last movie and make it completely insignificant. It loses all it's value if Hiccup, his family and perhaps other vikings, just come back and maybe even lived in the Hidden World anyway! If we have to have human marks and structures, etc. in the Hidden World, I would do it more in the style of “Haddock's Cycle” than “Hiccup and Tom.” Essentially, the creator of these changes is perhaps one of Hiccup's descendants, Tom's ancestors - the "soul of the dragon" that Hiccup and before him his mother had, summoning them to the world of dragons to see "Is it finally time? ”, but it never is, not yet anyway. Idk, I'm trying lol)

I have two concepts: There was once a main entrance to his part of the Dark Realm accompanianed by the waterfalls of magma, but now there's only basalt wall. This would make the closure possible for natural reasons and give Tom an opportunity to show off his geoligical knowledge some more.

Or he was caged in human-build prison, but not by Hiccup. I did that little sketch of how his page in Dragon Book could look in this scenario. Clearly different artstyle than Hiccup's to show that he was not the one to write about this individual (tho in show there's already different styles so--) But at the second thought it can be just illustration for species as whole, so anyway

In both cases, there are ways to enter his personal prison but he is too large to use them. They are still usefull as this is the only way prey will come to his reach. Not many dragons can escape his jaws.

He has spent most of his life in a rather hostile environment to which he was not adapted, which has left scars on his body and psyche. When he's not hunting, he sleeps. Hunger has halted his growth.

Jörmungandr is a damaged, dangerous dragon, the victim of fate and unknown past.

The psychological damage has made him hyper-aggressive, even by the standards of an already aggressive species. I don't think he could ever satiate his hunger either - if he could he would hunt and eat until he consumed everything in range or died of overeating.

For this dragon, it seems too late for a happy ending, unfortunately.

Now about the Midgard Serpents (placeholdern name, I have no idea how to name them) as a whole. Apex Predator may be a bit much, given the existence of dragons like Red Death, Purple Death or Bewilderbeast. However, Midgard Serpents remain one of the dragons that feed almost exclusively on other dragons (and sometimes even other members of their own species - they're cannibalistic), and they're damn good at it. When they feel best in the water, they can follow their prey in the sky or on land. They grow quite large and still are able to take down prey more massive than themselves (mostly thanks to venom and poisonous gas).

I think they are the main predators of 'Deaths and Bewilderbeasts (and other equally large dragons) in the earlier stages of life.

[undercoveravenger]

Rising Tides

Pairing: Siren!Finnick Odair x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Siren finnick odair trying to enchant the reader with his song and beautiful muscles but can’t get it. Take the story whatever direction you want”

A/N: Happy Spooky Month! This is post #2 of my Spooky Month writing event - #3 will be launching on Tuesday, October 17th. Hope you enjoy!

-----

Throughout Finnick’s years he’d seen the other sirens of his pod pick off humans with ease, using their stunning looks and alluring voices to draw their prey below the inky waves of the sea. The human’s mistake dooming them to be torn apart by the pod, sirens ripping and tearing the human apart until the wisps of blood in the water is all that remains of them.

He’d doubted he would have any issues when his turn for the Hunt arose- he’d grown up knowing he was beautiful, with fins and scales the same cool seafoam color as his eyes and hair that shone almost golden. He had learned how to be charming, to play coy, and to use his looks to draw people in. He hadn’t learned how to deal with someone like you.

Finnick had known you would be his prey as soon as he saw you, a sharp pain seizing in his chest when he saw you walking along the seaside edge of your district, picking at bits of seaglass and shells absently as you meandered along the sand. He’d been transfixed by the way the sinking sun made your skin glow, the soft look in your eyes as you looked out over the waves reminding him a bit of himself and his family. 

He hadn’t been quick enough to sing for you that day, too distracted by you to remember how to string notes and words and melodies together before you wandered back up the beach and into town, but he had plenty of other chances. Apparently you were no stranger to the beach, making it a nightly habit to stroll down the sand, watching over the waves and examining the small treasures brought up by the current. Sometimes you were joined by one or two others, but Finnick could never really bring himself to pay them any mind, fixated on you the same way he always was.

He’d tried to sing for you on one of the evenings that you wandered the beach alone, voice echoing quietly over the low rush of the waves coming and going, smooth and soft and sultry just the way he’d been taught. Like he had expected, you perked up at the sound of his song, taking a thoughtless step closer to the waves lapping at the shore before seeming to snap yourself out of his spell, turning swiftly on your heel and making your way home with your hands clasped over your ears to block out his voice. For the first time, Finnick doubted himself. Was his voice not as alluring as he’d been told? What if you didn’t like his song? Was he not perfect enough to draw you in? Would his pod think him a failure?

His doubts gnawed at him further when you continued to flee from him when you heard his voice, and further still when he had laid himself out along a large rock protruding from the water so you could get a good look at the way the light gleamed off his muscles and still turned away from him.

He got lucky one day though, arriving at the shore just in time to see you set off in a small boat - something he’d heard you call a ‘kayak’- with several of your friends paddling off ahead of you in their own small crafts. He smiled a bit to himself as he heard a laugh escape you, slipping soundlessly back into the water and darting swiftly after you, tail propelling him effortlessly through the water in pursuit of his prey.

With your friends’ head start, it was pretty easy for him to separate you from them, waiting until they had rounded the edge of the bay before latching onto the small handle at the front of your kayak and tugging you further out to sea. You had scrambled to try to paddle back toward the bay and to your friends, but Finnick was stronger than you. He was faster. Built to cut through water without faltering. He was an apex predator.

Eventually Finnick deemed that he had you far enough from shore that you could no longer ignore him, releasing his hold on your tow line and moving to circle your boat, watching you curiously from just below the surface of the water. A laugh bubbled out of him at the way you twisted sharply in your boat to keep your eyes fixed on him and then having to scramble to right yourself when the sudden movement threatened to overbalance you.

He surfaced right beside the kayak, clawed hands gripping tight to the edge of the kayak, just beside your own. Finnick does his best not to put too much weight on the plastic vessel, knowing he could tip it easily and not wanting to scare you more than he already had. He wasn’t sure when his fixation on you had shifted from hunger to something so much softer but he didn’t want you to fear him. He didn’t want to hurt you, he just wanted- Well. 

He just wanted you.

He opens his mouth and for a moment he is torn between singing and speaking to you. There is a split second when he thinks about how easy it’d be to tip you out of the boat, to drag you beneath the waves and present you to his family like he was supposed to. He thinks about it for longer than he should’ve, but he knows he can’t. 

“Why do you keep running away?” He finally forces out, words twisted and strange on his tongue without the saccharine sweetness he’d been taught to use. “Why wouldn’t you look at me? Why did you leave when I called for you?”

You are visibly shocked by the way he looks at you and he knows it must seem strange, to see a predator like him begging at your side like a love-struck dolphin. 

“Because you’re going to kill me,” you say simply, edging back in your kayak despite there not being far to go. “I’ve heard the stories about your kind. If I got too close-”

Finnick’s brows furrow as he looks up at you, “Was.” he says, releasing your boat in favor of swimming slow circles around you. “Not anymore.” He tips his head back, studying the way the clouds drifted in front of the sun.��

“So you’re… not trying to kill me?” you ask cautiously, eyes not wavering from Finnick even as he started to preen at the attention.

Finnick laughs, tipping his head to look at you and flicking water at you with the fluke of his tail. “No, not anymore.” He dips under the water, reemerging on the other side of the kayak and propping his head up on the edge of it, studying you intently. “I should, if you listen to what my family says, but I don't want to. You’re… interesting." 

He can tell you're really not sure what to make of that, but his heart jumps in his chest at the hesitant smile you give him in return.

"Swim with me?" The words escape Finnick before he can catch them, coming out breathy and desperate in a way he'd never expected to find himself sounding. He rushes to continue before he can consider the weight of what he'd asked you to do, the way he might brush against you or his tail might curl around your legs and the way he might get a look at you in something less… covering… than your usual clothes if you agreed to swim with him. "Maybe not now," he amends, eyes dropping sharply to where one of his pointed claws taps out a rhythm on the thin plastic of the kayak. "You don't trust me yet and I don't blame you. But maybe meet me tomorrow? Give me a chance?"

Finnick could see the way you jerk up straighter in your seat and your grip on your paddle shifts as you pick up on the sound of your friends calling for you. He's not sure if your answer is just an attempt to shoo him off in time to get back to your friends or to keep them from seeing him or just something you said without thinking, but the second that yes escapes you he's pushing himself up out of the water to press a sea-salty kiss to your cheek and promising to meet you at the beach at sunset the next day. 

He dives then, submerging himself well below the waves and trailing slowly after you until he's sure you and your friends made it back to the beach and then watching for just a bit longer as you disappear out of view before beginning to meander back to the labyrinth of sea caves his pod calls home.

Sure, Finnick isn’t sure if you’ll actually show up, but for the first time in weeks, his confidence has been restored and his charm feels as secure as ever. He’s definitely going against his pod pursuing you like this, but with his luck rising with the tides, he can’t bring himself to care, not with someone like you at stake.

[monstersdownthepath]

Deity: The Sea of Teeth

(Pic source: Craig Spearing, though it doesn’t seem to be on his site anymore and exists only as reuploads)

Chaotic Evil God of Endless Hunger

Domains: Chaos, Death, Destruction, Evil, War Subdomains: Demon, Entropy, Catastrophe, Cannibalism, Blood Favored Weapons: Bite Symbol: Fangs surrounding bones, stars, and/or planets. Sacred Animals: All gluttonous animals. Sacred Colors: N/a

The Abyss is deeper than any being could possibly comprehend, stretching an unknowable distance into the chaos beyond what sane beings consider the relative safety of their reality. Whether it has an end or a bottom is a mystery none have yet solved, as the deeper one goes, the more they must grapple with the knowledge that the hundreds of layers occupied by the foulest sorts of demons are merely the surface level of the Abyss, the safest environs a mortal of this cosmos can exist in. To venture into the Abyss is taxing enough, but to delve deep into the Outer Rifts, where the primordial qlippoth and beasts even stranger roam, is something few can withstand for longer than fleeting moments. It is easy, though not entirely accurate, to compare the demon-occupied Abyss as something akin to the levels of the ocean where the sun still reaches. It is dangerous, laden with hazards and predators which may end the life of an explorer... But the Rifts? If one were still comparing the Abyss to the ocean, the Outer Rifts are depths where sunlight cannot reach, where the pressure is so intense that even steel buckles and crumbles, where the cold is so penetrating that nothing can defend against it, and where life as we know it simply cannot survive.

But like the ocean’s darkest depths, there is still life to be found, alien and strange. Predating even the eldest of the gods, the qlippoth crawl and slither and skitter in endless varieties and maddening shapes. From tiny insects to the great, demigod-level Qlippoth Primordials, qlippoth span across every branch of existence, forming grotesque and twisted mirrors to the biospheres found all over creation, all living and eating and dying and transforming. It is a great, eldritch ecosystem, where even worlds must feed.

And with the imprisonment of Rovagug, it has lost its apex predator.

Ask any zoologist what happens to any ecosystem in which an important predatory force is removed and you will receive a similar answer; the prey gorges itself until it starves, reproduces until there is no more room, and the cycle of life comes to an abrupt and terrible halt as the links in the chain give way one by one. In extreme cases, the entire environment is destroyed by the unbalance. While it’s true that the Abyss has no shortage of predatory creatures all willing and able to consume one another, none of them work on the scale that Rovagug did, devouring and destroying entire landscapes and worlds at once to keep the growth of the Abyss itself from becoming too dangerously rampant. 

But now that he is gone, the balance is upset, and the invasive species that is demonkind has done more harm than good as the natives of the Rifts experience an apocalyptic collapse. Unfortunately for the cosmos as a whole, from the deepest depths of the Outer Rifts a new apex predator has risen to fill the vacuum.

It has no name, but it has many titles; the Sea of Teeth is the most common one, but it is also known as “the Devouring God,” “the Black Well,” “Hadal,” “the Consuming Cascade,” “the Final Tide,” among others and their many variations. It is more location than creature, as though an entire layer of the Abyss has shuddered to terrible life and apocalyptic hunger, branching titanic tendrils throughout the rest of the plane to consume all which falls in its shadow. To those that know if its existence, it is hunger unimaginable, a ravenous force that depletes and destroys everything it crosses. It does not just settle for the twisted flora and fauna, but the very landscape itself is chewed apart, and when there is no matter left it drinks up the local quintessence until the fabric of the layer frays and collapses. It constantly sends tiny tendrils of its matter throughout the Abyss to hunt for new rich feeding grounds, the smallest and weakest of these ‘roots,’ pinpricks of its essence that emerge through tiny portals it gnaws in reality, take on the shape and strength of Shoggoths with the Savage Mythic Template. Because of the immense power of these tiny specks of the greater Sea, it rapidly overtakes any stretch of the Abyss which doesn’t contain any creature or force capable of combating its searching limbs, but any layer with such defenses enjoys some level of safety from the greater Sea. Slaying the roots causes the limb from which they grew to recoil slightly, slowing its spread into a particular layer and allowing them time to plan for the next incursion.

The irony of the Abyss finding itself besieged by a threat which spreads across multiple planar layers and which requires constant, combined efforts to fight back against is lost on many demons. And it is indeed demons which find themselves at the fore of the Sea’s attacks; the Sea is indiscriminate in its feeding frenzies, consuming all in its path with no regard for the qlippoth it technically shares kinship with (with the sole exception being the Iathavos, the only being which it ignores entirely), but much how like animals of Golarion will flee an impending natural disaster hours before it happens, qlippoth seem to possess an innate sense of when and where the Sea will strike, assuring only the injured, the slow, the ill, the foolish, and the foolhardy are actually devoured. Why and how they preternaturally know when it will arrive is a secret they have not shared, and likely never will. 

It is believed that no fewer than six entire Abyssal layers have already been entirely consumed in the short few centuries that the Sea has been known to mortal scholars (and perhaps many before anyone even realized it was there), several dozen are actively besieged by its reaching limbs, and hundreds more are being inspected by its roots. Any normal plane which hosted such a force would quickly be rendered lifeless and barren, but the sheer size and repulsive fecundity of the Abyss assures no such catastrophe will occur, and even if the “shallows” of the Abyss were to be depopulated entirely (an impossible task in and of itself, even for a god), the Sea would simply retreat into the deeper Rifts to continue its feast in unknowable lands until the shallows recovered and regrew, just as a roving predator does when prey is exhausted in one area.

... But this relieving truth has yet to be uncovered, and will likely not be known for several millennia. In the current times, a mere few centuries after its emergence, the Sea is spoken of by doomsayers and prophets as an existential threat of cosmic magnitude, threatening the entirety of existence as it’s known. There are many who believe that the Sea’s emergence is a sure sign that the Abyss will soon be destroyed, devoured utterly down to the last demon larvae, and demons as an entity in the universe will completely cease to exist. These same thinkers and madmen are divided on what, exactly, this would cause in the Great Beyond as a whole; some posit that the removal of the tumor that is the Abyss will usher in a profound universal transformation in which certain breeds of Evil can no longer exist, while others think the Abyss itself will transform into an entirely new Neutrally-aligned plane! The implications of this transformation is, itself, a topic of conjecture and debate. Planar scholars from all corners of creation have driven themselves to fevered frenzies trying to imagine what a universe without demonkind would look like, whether or not demonic power would simply emerge in a new form elsewhere... and whether or not an end to demons as they’re currently known warrants aiding the Sea of Teeth in some way.

Any mind pondering the possibilities of the Sea destroying the Abyss itself must, of course, answer the inevitable question of “what happens afterwards?” Perhaps it will consume itself or starve to death! Perhaps it will slink back into the Outer Rifts, finally satisfied that it has killed every last demon. Perhaps it will pupate into something worse... Or perhaps, once the Abyss has been consumed, the Sea will rush to fill the empty roots left behind which will connect it to a thousand new feeding grounds, swelling further to break down the shorelines of all creation and bring about the end of all things.

Whatever the truth is, the Great Beyond will have to wait and see. There IS one absolute truth that can be shared with whomever is reading this, though: Despite what doomsayers scream of what will happen were it to drink the Plane of Water, inhale the flames of Creation’s Forge, or invade the Ethereal Plane to consume the thoughts and dreams of mortals, the Sea of Teeth does not work towards such apocalyptic goals. It does not plan its assaults, it does not consider the consequences of its actions, and it does not dream of the endless banquet waiting for it just outside the walls of the Abyss.

It, in fact, does not think at all.

----- Obedience and Boons -----

Many cultists, madmen, studious Outsiders of every shape and description, and scholars of every species and alignment all ascribe different reasons and motivations to the Sea’s actions, whether it be divine rage against demons, a rampage to eventually free Rovagug and prove that he is truly the lesser evil when compared to the unseen powers in the deeper Rifts, the incarnate form of the Abyss’ predilection for predation and parisitism turned horribly self-destructive, the incarnation of hunger as a concept, or maybe even the herald of the end times... but the truth is truly right in front of them, described in the first section of this very article: The Sea of Teeth is a hungry beast which has found a stretch of uncontested land, and has begun to gorge itself on a population that has few true defenses against an invasive species.

Though it is indeed divine, it is still essentially a simple-minded predator driven entirely by instinct. It is a form of life which operates on a scale that a common mind struggles to envision, but it serves a function that is familiar, almost mundane, and its presence in the Great Beyond is unfortunate happenstance, not an apocalyptic omen. Any ‘meaning’ to its rampage or claims that it is acting towards some unfathomable goal are pure conjecture, the product of minds desperate to establish a pattern or see some divine truth where a mundane truth would suffice. A hungry wolf which devours a farmer’s sheep is not some punishment for his failure or some insatiable, sadistic beast torturing him because he cannot fight back... it’s a hungry animal, any mythologizing or anthropomorphizing is the fault of the farmer, not the wolf. 

This truth, however, is beyond most creatures in the cosmos, to whom the Sea is an incomprehensibly threatening force of annihilation. To them, it is whatever they want it to be, whatever they project, and often whatever they fear it is, as it has no desire (or even ability) to answer questions about itself. It has unintentionally gathered numerous cults in its name--doomsday and otherwise--all led by powerful figureheads who’ve achieved some divine contact with it... or at least contact with a figurehead which worships the Sea, in some bizarre and indirect form of faith. There exists a ritual one can use to connect to the Sea and gain some of its power at the cost of becoming perpetually ravenous, a ritual used by many to achieve positions of power in the budding cults of the Sea of Teeth, up to and including becoming divine fronts in and of themselves... which inadvertently makes them beacons for spells such as Commune attempting to reach the true Sea, further muddying the waters about its supposed goals and desires. Undoubtedly, one of the most famous of these figureheads is Chormilg, the Thousanth Tooth, a powerful Nyogoth Cleric/Exalted of the Sea of Teeth (CR 18/MR 6) which claims to have hatched from one of the Sea’s teeth after it broke itself against the heart of a forgotten deity, and thus is the literal mouth-piece of the god. Chormilg is the closest thing to a true leader that the disparate cults of the Devouring God have, and is currently the highest authority in the Sea’s faith, acting as the deity’s proxy, AND the reason many believe the Sea’s hunger to be primarily directed at demons, as Chormilg itself despises demonic life.  

The largest cult to the Sea is the one founded by Chormilg, known as the Salgurat, an Abyssal word translating to “Ebon Maws,” a cult devoted to capturing and consuming demons and their mortal fanatics, as well as making regular, organized sacrifices to the Sea of Teeth to empower it in the hopes of accelerating its growth through the Abyss. Some smaller cults grow from gatherings of heretics among the faiths of Thuskchoon, Jubilex, Cyth-V’sug, Zevgavizeb, and other great and ancient beasts of the Abyss, who believe their former deities to be the offspring of the Sea and have thus chosen to serve the “Progenitor Maw” or “Hunger’s Father” out of respect. Other cults have many reasons for their worship, such as Creation’s Eclipse, a cult of daemons and their maniacal mortal followers hellbent on finding ways to help the Sea enter Creation’s Forge and snuff it. Some of these smaller factions even have benevolent, though misguided, hopes for a universe without the Abyss, Whatever the case may be, any follower of the Sea are as varied as the morsels it consumes, coming from all over the universe.

The Obedience ritual to serve the Devouring God is a lesser form of the Shores of the Sea of Teeth occult ritual, and both of them have the same effect at different intensities: It convinces the Sea that the creature undertaking the ritual is actually a part of itself, and so it sends a tendril of its essence and a spark of its power into the creature, often physically mutating them. This offers the creature not only supernatural might, but some protection from the Sea’s appetite, with many audacious beings--Chormilg included--nesting within the god’s churning body, believing themselves favored by the horror due to their faith and devotion, unaware they’re doing the mystic equivalent of dabbing an ant colony’s scent upon themselves to avoid being torn apart by the swarm. The Sea has no loyalty to anything but its own stomachs, any power it offers given only through unintentional trickery or divine reflex, but it is nonetheless a power that any creature--regardless of alignment--can tap into, should they know how... and should they brave the consequences. 

As a true deity, the Sea of Teeth can grant Boons to any creature taking the Deific Obedience feat, but it does not possess a dedicated Prestige Class such as Feysworn or Diabolist. Boons are typically gained slowly, achieved at levels 12, 16, and 20, but by entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes as early as possible, they can be obtained at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. While normally a deity as ambivalent as the Sea would grant only one set of Boons, the fanatic devotion of countless beings and the fear of infinitely more has created a potent psychic impression upon it, allowing it a full three.

Obedience: Spend at least 30 minutes meditating on the sensations of hunger while surrounded by circle of ritual objects made of materials harvested from creatures you’ve killed and consumed portions of. At the conclusion of this meditative period, eat anything you have available--preferably portions of creatures you’ve helped slay in the last 24 hours--until you’re full. Benefit: You become permanently afflicted by the Oracle’s Hunger curse the first time you perform the Obedience ritual, and the curse cannot be removed by mortal magic. For 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your total Hit Dice is treated as your Oracle level for the purpose of determining the intensity of your curse; failing to perform your Obedience causes your curse to weaken, treating only half your Hit Dice as your Oracle level for the purpose of the curse. If you are already an Oracle, for 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your Oracle level is treated as 4 higher for determining the intensity of your new Hunger curse.

------ EVANGELIST ------

Boon 1: The Preview (Sp): Gain Grease 3/day, Hold Person 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Boon 2: Titanic Appetite (Ex): The gnawing hunger in your belly drives you to eat anything you can get your hands on, trusting your connection to your god to protect you from the consequences. You become immune to the effects of all ingested poisons and diseases, and cannot be sickened, nauseated, or cursed by items, food, or creatures you eat. You can digest and draw sustenance from any matter you can consume. Any bite attacks you have ignore the first 5 points of Hardness when damaging objects, widening your potential palate.

Boon 3: Crushed by the Depths (Sp): Once per day, you can focus the power of the Sea onto your foes, allowing it to reach across space and devour them utterly. You may use Implosion once per day as a spell-like ability, but you may target even incorporeal or gaseous creatures with it, and if the target succeeds the saving throw against the effect, they still take 10d6 points of damage. When you target a creature with this ability it possesses a unique visual effect: a phantasmal, protean mass envelops the target and crushes inwards. Any creature killed by this ability is entirely consumed; any nonmagical items they possessed are also destroyed, and magic items fall into their former space.

------ EXALTED ------

Boon 1: A Bite of Everything (Sp): Gain Adhesive Spittle 3/day, Allfood 2/day, or Dispel Magic 1/day.

Boon 2: Ravening Form (Ex/Sp): Your connection to the Sea of Teeth deepens and more of its essence flows into you. This connection twists your body in incomprehensible ways, granting you the constant benefits of 50% Fortification and the Compression universal monster ability. In addition, once per day as a standard action, you may undergo a horrifying but thankfully short-lived surge of vitality as tendrils of the Sea’s matter slither through your body to restore you, gaining the benefits of the Regeneration spell.

Boon 3: Whirlpool of Teeth (Sp): Once per day you may open a portal leading directly to the Sea of Teeth to send entire pieces of the world to your god, in effect casting Maw of Chaos as a spell-like ability. The spell is altered in the following ways: Each round at the start of your turn, all creatures and unattended objects within 40ft of the Maw are automatically pulled 10ft closer to the Maw before it makes its CMB check (potentially allowing it to pull a target twice in one round); this summoned Maw lasts an additional +3 rounds after you stop concentrating on it; and you are unaffected by any of the Maw’s effects, though you may not enter its space. 

------ SENTINEL ------

Boon 1: Soften the Meal (Sp): Gain Ray of Sickening 3/day, Blindness/Deafness 2/day, or Ray of Exhaustion 1/day.

Boon 2: Slavering Jaws (Ex): Your teeth sharpen to frightening and deadly points and your jaw can distend to repulsive and terrific effect. The bite attack gained from your Hunger curse becomes a primary natural attack which deals damage as if you were two size categories larger (2d6 for a Medium creature). The bite attack ignores 5 points of Hardness or Damage Reduction and is considered a magic weapon. Finally, due to the horror your mouth has become, you gain a profane bonus to Intimidate checks equal to your Strength modifier, and you may make an Intimidate check as a swift action against any creature within 30ft when you confirm a critical hit against another creature with your bite attack.

Boon 3: Hole in the Universe (Ex): Your stomach becomes an extradimensional space which partially intersects the Sea of Teeth. The bite gained from your Hunger curse gains the Grab and Swallow Whole abilities if they did not already have them, and you may attempt to swallow any creature of your size or smaller that you have grappled. Your extradimensional stomach may have any number of creatures or objects of any size swallowed at once. Creatures and unattended objects within your stomach take 6d6 bludgeoning and 6d6 Acid damage each round. Extradimensional spaces (such as Bags of Holding) cannot be opened while within you, but otherwise do not interact with you in a destructive way. If a swallowed creature deals enough damage to cut free, instead of creating a hole, the pain forces you to regurgitate all creatures and objects in your stomach at once; you are nauseated for 1d6 rounds and cannot use Swallow Whole for 1 minute after.

[immediatebreakfast]

How incredible is to feel through writing the change, and magnitude of the danger when our villain is presented in different conditions.

Gone are the one on one sessions between Jonathan, and Dracula that allowed the scenery of the castle to thrive in decadent isolation; there are no long corridors, nor high placed windows to see the sharp edges of the abyss. No more corners to hide within the shadows while Jonathan tries to grasp his sanity as Dracula orchestrates scenes to personally mentally torture him.

Today we are at sea, the marvelous, seemly infinite, and inhuman body of water that has spawned centuries of folklore. Along with new (modern!) sailors that, just like Jonathan, don't know the kind of evil that lurks beneath the dirt. However, it is a kind of different evil that we have seen through the narrative, as narrated by the captain in his travel log; which in six days transformed from a single working tool to what could be the only proof of what happened in the future, just like Jonathan's journal.

The captain, and the crew are utterly in the middle of the ocean while the only floor they walk on is the wood on the deck. There are no crevices, no haunting rooms, nothing; it's just them, the Demeter ship, and the roaring of the ocean to keep them company in their work travel.

Why would there be any need for a predator to demonstrate the finesse of an experienced killer in an enviroment like this? There is no need, an apex predator lurking at the edges of captain's vision as the crew decends in human fear while he picks them one by one... would do well.

[naffeclipse]

What would Y/N do is Orca!Eclipse was having a panic attack?

He would try to hide from your sights and deal with it on his own, panicking and struggling with the squeezing pressure in his chest that makes him wonder if his heart will simply stop and he will float belly up, dead. He can't be seen as weak. That's not attractive. That's not going to make you stay. But you would find him anyway.

You're bewildered and alarmed watching the orca siren flounder as if he were under attack, but he couldn't be. He's the apex predator of the Arctic. You finally beckon and perhaps even touch him when he thrashes beside the ice. Your gloves slide down his slick skin but you take him by the face and hold him still, speaking softly to him. You don't know what's wrong. You only know his eyes are wide and wild, darting everywhere but you.

Softly, calmly, you tell him everything is alright. He's safe. He's going to be okay. You're here. You don't want him to be scared or hurt or alone. His breaths are off-tempo and hitched like he's drowning above the sea. Your thumbs softly stroke his cheek while he slowly clings to you, his claws pressing so tight to your coat that you're afraid he's going to puncture the fabric. Instead, he slowly drags himself onto land and pulls you against his wet chest. This time, you don't fear it so much.

He curls tightly around you, clinging to you like a child. Even stranger, he's silent. He's so terribly quiet and you fear that he's gone into shock or something of that nature. You keep talking to him, telling him things about photography and other places you visit, anything to keep him grounded with your voice. You don't think you make any sense or you sound boring, but when you pause for a few seconds too long, his arms begin squeezing you. You continue, and he gradually uncoils from whatever is gripping him.

You ask if he wants to talk about it. He says no. He just wants to hold you. He begs you to stay, to not leave him. He doesn't want to be alone again.

So you stay with him in his arms until he's almost back to old himself.