#i continue to be baffled by the passage of time

[expelliarmus]

[angelicyoongie]

The Obsidian Pearl (I)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 7.2k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

Part 01 - 02

"Captain, this is a bad idea."

A hush falls over the deck, a few whispers being passed back and forth between the crew as they watch you challenge the captain's decision. There's an audible gulp somewhere behind you as the captain pins you with a hard gaze, his jaw clenched tight with annoyance.

He taps the map that's spread out in front of him, voice leaving no room for argument as he says, "This is the fastest route."

"That may be, Captain, but it's not worth the risk. Haven't you heard the stories? The numerous crews that have gone missing after sailing in this area? There's a reason it's called The Dead Man's passage!”

A ripple of murmurs flow through the crowd at the reminder, the passage's deadly reputation making it somewhat of a ghost story – a tale every seafarer hears at one point or another. You don't know much; the few crews that have managed the journey safely have been tight-lipped about their experience, their eyes left haunted. The part that has always baffled you the most about the stories is that the ships themselves always make it through the passage, fully intact and filled with loot, but their crews never do. It's like they all vanish without a trace, like they've just been whisked away by the wind – never to be seen again. 

The captain clears his throat, a sharp sound that cuts through the growing voices on deck, silencing them immediately. 

"We have no choice. If we continue on the intended route we'll run out of food and fresh water a week before we reach the nearest port. Cutting through the passage will save us valuable time. I would never take this risk and endanger the crew if someone had done their job properly." 

You glance to the side, catching the eye of the cowering boatswain.

He's young, far too young to handle such responsibility on his own. He's only just grown into his ears, the top of his head barely reaching the captain's shoulders. He was thrust into the position much too soon, but it couldn't be helped. The previous boatswain suddenly succumbed to an infected wound just a few days before you were scheduled to leave the last port. It left all of you scrambling to pick up the slack around the ship and the poor lad must've been forgotten in the mess.

You had tried to delegate someone to help him, but the captain had been firm that he needed to do it on his own, to build character. It's no wonder he wasn't able to calculate the needed supplies correctly, not when he was still grieving the loss of his mentor at the same time. 

You notice the bead of sweat that rolls down the side of the young boatswain's face, his skin flushed with nerves. You can't let the poor lad be punished for his sorrow, not when this whole predicament could've been avoided. 

Letting out a small sigh, you lower your head in apology, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should've made sure everything was in order, this is no one's fault but mine." 

"I expected better from you, Quartermaster," The Captain's comment cuts deep, even though you know this wasn't your fault. "Very well. Seeing as you have placed our crew in peril, I doubt you will oppose the solution to the problem you have created?" 

You grit your teeth, dipping your head lower as you say, "Of course not, Captain. I apologize for speaking out of turn." 

Clenching your hands by your side, you try to focus on the hot sun beating down your neck as you tune out the captain's voice. Getting angry won't do you any good here, not when you've already admitted defeat. The heavy thumps of feet moving all around you tells you that the crew is already beginning to change the ship's course, listening to the captain's orders as he yells them out. You shake your head, stomach churning as you realize that no one dares to challenge him, even if they all know deep down that they're being lead straight to the deaths. 

You steel yourself as polished boots pause in front of yours, eye twitching as you look up and meet the captain's gaze. His solemn expression doesn't quite match the light tone of his voice as he leans in to say, "A hungry crew is a dangerous crew, Y/n. I don't think I need to remind you why that is."

Suppressing a shudder, you don't give him the satisfaction of knowing that his little comment has had the intended effect, bad memories already swirling in the back of your mind. Instead, you stare him down, defiant as ever until he shakes his head and walks off in the direction of his cabin.

It's only when he's out of sight that you reach up to trace the raised skin on your throat, the jagged scar that greets you whenever you glance in a mirror. No, there's no reminder nor threat needed. You know first-hand just how desperate a person can become when they're feeling depraved of what makes them human. 

You swallow thickly, ripping your hand away from the old wound. There's no use dwelling on the past, there's nothing from that day that can help you now. 

The sound of the sails billowing out as they catch more wind jerks your attention forward, gentle waves crashing against the hull of the ship as it picks up speed. You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the salty air and pray to whatever god that might be listening that you'll be able to make it out of the passage alive. 

The night has already fallen, the moon high in the sky, by the time you catch sight of the two large rock formations in the distance. Everything about the passage screams unnatural and strange, the two small mountains practically appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the sea. While they look to be on the smaller side, you know there's no way to sail around them. The waters are littered with reefs and strong currents, all traps that are bound to sink unsuspecting ships. You can make out the faint outline of a few of them on the horizon, their broken masts and half-sunken hulls serving as a haunting reminder that the only way past the passage is through it. 

You squint as you notice a faint glow in the distance, the light too obscure to make out properly on deck. You quickly make your way up to the helm, hoping the raised platform will provide a better view. 

"What's that?" You murmur, shooting the coxswain a worried glance.

"Ain't anything good, that's for sure," The man grumbles in reply. He tightens his grip on the wheel, eyebrows drawn tight as the ship steadily draws closer and closer. 

The faint glow grows brighter with each passing minute, more and more sources of light appearing all over the two mountains. You suck in a breath as the ship enters the passage, the area so tight it barely allows for two vessels to pass each other. The close proximity allows you to see the lights more clearly, and you're shocked to discover that it seems to be coming from huge white flowers sprouting from the mountain sides. There's something algae-like clinging to the base of the mountains as well, illuminating the edges of the passage like guiding lights, beckoning you in. 

The ship glides smoothly through the channel, the soft current carrying you all through the quiet water. Based on the stories you've heard you were expecting treacherous waves and jagged rocks that appear out of nowhere to throw the crew off-board, but there's none of that. In fact, there's nothing that points to this passage being dangerous at all, no signs of broken planks or fabric clinging to the mountain, no sunken ships visible below the surface. You can almost fool yourself into thinking that no other humans have ever sailed through these mountains before. 

As beautiful and untouched as the passage may seem, there is something terribly unnerving about the silence that has settled over the ship. The crew has gone completely still, like they're scared of breaking the quiet. Likewise, you can't really find it in yourself to make any noise either, your lips pressed firmly together as you anxiously scan the mountain for hidden threats. 

You've almost made it halfway through the passage when you first hear it.

There's a low hum, barely louder than the noise of the water breaking against the ship, that echoes between the tall rocks. You have to strain your ears to hear it at first, but the sound seems to grow with each gust of wind in the ship's sails, gradually increasing the further into the mountains you go. 

You can't make out any words, the language either too old or foreign for you to understand, but the angelic voice behind them makes your heart yearn. You can feel the melody wrapping itself around your heart, squeezing, as it roots itself in your ribcage, sorrowful tendrils clinging to each bone. 

"Come to the water."

The wind carries the whisper straight to your ear, caressing your skin like a warm breath, before it travels on. You jerk forward at the sensation, whipping your head around to locate where the voice could be coming from.

There's no one around you aside from the coxswain who looks to be lost in thought, mouth slack as he stares ahead. 

You glance down at the deck, frowning as you notice that more and more of the crew are beginning to abandon their posts. They're all migrating to the right side of the ship, walking on unsteady feet like they've been guzzling down barrels of mead. 

"Come to me."

You wince as the singing grows more intense, your breath stuttering in your chest in response to the voice that's so desperately calling for you.

You blink, eyes struggling to adjust, as the flowers and the algae on the mountains begin to thin out, taking their light away with them. As if that wasn't bad enough, a great shadow is suddenly cast upon the passage, the last of the illumination you had rapidly disappearing behind thick clouds as the moon is hidden away. 

You curse under your breath, mentally taking note of the lit oil lanterns hanging around the ship. There's ten, no– nine, but if you gather them all up and place them near the bow, maybe it'll be enough light to get the ship safely out of the passage? 

"I need to– hey!" You stumble back as the coxswain bumps into you, his eyes unseeing as he stumbles towards the stairs to the lower deck. A sudden drift to the side propels him forward, allowing him to slip out of your reach before you can grab his shirt and haul him back. 

"Shit," You hiss, only giving yourself a split second to hesitate before whirling around to grab the wheel. The wood has already begun to turn left without the coxswain's steady hands to lead the way and the ship groans as you hurry to correct it back on the right path. 

You keep a tight vise on the wheel, leaning forward to yell out for another crewmate to take over, when you hear the first splash. 

Hurriedly glancing down at the deck, the swaying lanterns provide just enough light to show one of the cooks climbing over the railing, his movements stilted and jerky as he suddenly flings himself off the ship. Your scream is caught in your throat, your eyes wide with horror as you hear the subsequent splash of his body hitting the water. 

What in the gods is going on?

Feet rooted to the floor and fear squeezing the back of your neck with a iron grip, you can only watch as the crew all clamber over the railing, throwing themselves off the ship one by one. The steady melody echoing between the mountains is only interrupted by the terrible sound of bodies sinking into the ocean.

Dread settles deep into the pit of your stomach as you realize there are no screams, no gasps for air, only silence – and him, the voice that's begging you to come rest along your brethren in the deep, peaceful ocean. 

"No," You wheeze, shaking your head to rid the fog that's has begun creeping in. You cling to the wheel, fingers slick with sweat as you try to keep the ship steady, ignoring the blur that has settled at the edge of your vision. 

"Captain!"

Hope shoots through your veins as you find your captain in the dwindling crowd, his bulky figure illuminated by the dancing lights as he stumbles over to the nearest crewmate, pulling them back from the railing. He pushes a few men back, his strength sending them sliding back to the middle of the deck.

You almost loosen your grip, ready to run down and help him, when he abruptly turns his back on them and jumps over the railing in one swift motion. He lands on the small ledge just outside of it, heels shuffling not to slip as he grips the banister with one arm. 

"Captain!" The scream rips out of your throat, carrying across the silent deck like a bullet.

The captain shudders as it reaches him, his body jerking back and forth like he can't make up his mind on whether he should jump or not. Horrified, you watch as he twists his upper body around to face you, his expression stricken as he meets your gaze across the ship. He almost looks like he just came out of a trance, his face drenched in sweat and skin grey with fear as he tries to figure out how he ended up at the edge of the vessel.

You can see mouth opening, his lips forming around the first syllables of your name when the angelic voice suddenly grows louder, the haunting melody reverberating between the mountains. The captain's mouth goes slack, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he once again succumbs to spell that was controlling him. The last thing you see as the captain lets go of the railing, is the serene smile that takes over his face, his eyes closing as he falls backwards into the ocean. 

Heart pounding inside your chest, you stare blankly at the now empty spot where your captain stood. You flinch, sick to your stomach, at the heavy splash that follows only seconds later. 

"Lay your tired body to rest." 

Your fingers twitch at the command, a little whisper in the back of your mind begging you to obey – to give in. You legs have started to shake, sweat sliding down your back in a steady stream at the effort it takes to resist the pull. 

Even as you struggle to gulp down enough air, your body in overdrive from the unfathomable things you've just seen, you still find your pulse quickening, panic flooding every fibre of your being as it finally dawns on you what's going on. 

You've sailed right into the territory of a siren. 

Perhaps you should have seen it coming – the tales of the passage all emphasize how it's only the crew that go missing, not the ships. You've heard whispers about creatures lurking in the deep ocean, of monsters that eat humans, but you never expected that you would ever encounter them. They were folktales, something you chose not to believe in to protect your own sanity as a seafarer. Now, you can only curse yourself for not trusting your instincts the moment you felt the unearthly atmosphere of the mountains; that you didn't have enough forethought to at least stuff your ears and tie each crewmate to their post as a precaution. 

Maybe it would've been enough to save the them – to save you. 

You cower against the wheel as the song grows so loud it causes your ears to ring, the voice promising peace and eternal slumber. It urges, demands, your body to move and you whimper fearfully as your feet take a step back against your will. 

You can't tell how much time has passed since the ship entered the mountains, it could be mere minutes or it could be hours – but as you peer into the looming darkness, you can finally make out where the passage ends and opens back up to the vast sea. The joy fizzles out before it can even take root, the sight in front of you filling you with a sense of glum acceptance. Even if you can see the end, there's no way you'll make it there. The ship is moving too slow, almost no wind making it past the tall mountains. 

Your head throbs painfully as the siren's whispers turns more insistent. You can feel the creature's wrath, how angry he is that you're still resisting him. The increased pressure behind your skull makes you groan, your vision going dark as you're hit with a sudden dizzy spell. 

Gripping the wheel, you're confused to find that the woods feels thicker, less polished, than it was only seconds before. You force your eyelashes to part despite the sharp pain it gives you, blinking furiously to clear your swimming vision. Your knees nearly buckle as the silent waters below come into focus, your body no longer on the upper deck. Dazed, you stare at the white knuckled grip you have on the railing, your feet tucked into the openings between the posts. 

"Oh gods," You whisper shakily.

You have no idea how you got here. 

The sound of a soft splash makes you turn your head to the side. Your throat runs dry as you watch the big circle of ripples that fan out from the spot where something dived underwater, the waves much too big to come from a normal fish. As you keep looking at the one spot in disbelief, one of the lanterns on the ship sway outwards, following the rocking of the ship. 

It takes you a moment to realize what you're seeing, the stale bread you had earlier that day shooting up your throat as the waters on the side of the vessel is lit up. The ocean is no longer the clear blue it was when you entered the passage but rather a murky red, saturated with what must be the blood of your crewmates. 

The sight makes you heave, tears springing to your eyes as the reality truly settles in. 

You're going to die. 

The siren – the predator – luring you all to your deaths, is clearly waiting right below, ripping everyone apart the moment they're submerged below the water. Even if the shock of the cold sea woke them up from their trance, they would have no chance to fight off such a vicious creature. You have no chance. The moment you step off the ship, you're dead.

You sob as the shock tapers off, the singing once again hitting you with full force. You can't stop your own body as you clumsily clamber over the railing, your feet moving without your permission. It's only when you hit the ledge that you find yourself able to jerk back, a moment of temporary control allowing you to plaster yourself against the banister. 

Staring down at the crimson sea, you find your mind going blank. You always expected to see flashes of your life pass by your eyes when faced with certain death but there's nothing. No happy memories to numb the inevitable pain of being torn apart, muscles shredded to bits as water fills your lungs. No echoes of the voices you adore saying that they love you and that everything will be okay. 

Instead, there's only the deadly quiet sea and the siren's taunting whispers urging you to jump. 

You eye the dark water, noticing a large shape moving closer just under the surface of the ocean. You mindlessly reach for the dagger on your hip, clutching it tightly in your hand even if it means you're only clinging on with one arm. If your death is unavoidable, then you're sure as hell not going down without inflicting a deep cut or two. 

As something begins to emerge from the water, the song that has been constantly ringing between your ears suddenly quiets down. Your skin puckers with goosebumps, all the hair on your body rising in fear as a head slowly rises above the surface. The siren's dark locks are one with the water, the long strands flowing into the ocean like spindly fingers. In the dark, there's no telling where it ends, as if the ocean is merely an extension of the creature itself.

Two pitch black eyes, as dark and deep as the starless skies above, lock onto yours the moment they rise above the surface. The flickering lantern doesn't offer much assistance but the poor light tells you that it has no discernible pupils, nothing to indicate that there's any life in them. It's like staring into an endless void. 

Despite the chill those eyes send down your spine, your feet willingly takes another step forward, like the mere presence of the creature alone is enough to entrance your body. You let out a pained scream as you slip, your shoulder popping loudly as you manage to grab onto a post, one arm working desperately to keep you from failing into the water below. 

"No, no, no," You whimper, gravity making it impossible to reach up with your other arm. You won't be able to pull yourself up even if you drop your knife, the small ledge above making it impossible to locate another post. 

You glance down as you dangle from the ship, your grip almost slipping out of fright as the siren's maw comes into view above water. His jaw is unhinged, hellish, mouth stretched way past that of a normal human. It's filled with rows of fang-like teeth, all stained with crusted blood. Terrified, you watch as the siren seems to simply pop his jaw back into place, like the fact that it was just opened so wide it was touching his sternum poses no issues at all.

The creature tilts his head, thinking, as he watches you struggle to drag yourself up. He swims closer, the movement so fluent it looks like he's just gliding through the water. Your arm is shaking terribly by the time he's only a few feet away from where you'll hit the ocean, your shoulder screaming with hurt from holding on for so long. 

Through the blinding pain, you see the siren reach out a webbed hand, his long black claws nearly the size of his fingers. He gives you a smile you can only describe as sinister, blood stained teeth on display and his voice melodious as he says, "Come, pet."

You can feel the thrall taking hold this time, your body willingly going slack one limb after the other. You have no time to think, no time to act, before your hand simply just lets go of the railing on its own volition.

In the second it takes for your body to fall, before your eyes squeeze shut and your body is surrendered to the water – all you can think as you spare the skies one last glance, is that the gods must be cruel if they can't even give you a starry night to look upon before you're torn apart by their horrific creation. 

Groaning, you slowly open your eyes. There's a dull ache at the base of your skull and every blink up at the pink-tinted sky only seems to make it throb more. The surface you're lying on is hard, terribly uncomfortable, and there's no steady rocking motion to soothe you back to sleep for a few extra minutes of rest. 

Something feels wrong.

It's only when your eyes have fully adjusted to the soft light that you're snapped back to reality, the distant sound of waves breaking bringing back the memories of the night before. You jerk upright, heart racing, as they come flooding in all at once. The crew, the siren, the blood. You jumped. You should be dead.

You force yourself to take slow, steady breaths, shakily inhaling air through your nose as you glance around. You can't afford to panic right now, not when you don't know where the creature is or when it might come back. 

The morning sun is just barely peeking over the top of the mountain that's blocking most of your sight, casting a large shadow over what appears to be a lake just in front of you. It's still dark, still dawn, on your side of the mountain and it makes the faint glow on the rocks all the more noticeable. You're too far away to tell for sure but you have a terrible feeling that it's likely the same flowers that you sailed past in the passage. And if you can still see them, that means you must be on the other side of the mountains you attempted to travel through. 

You're sitting near the mouth of what appears to be a small cave, connected by a large piece of flat stone that's jutting out into the lake. It's lined with clusters of big and small rocks, creating an odd border along the sides of it. The mountain around the cave is unnaturally smooth, the incline too sharp for you to even think about climbing it. No matter how much you stare at the rock formation that's surrounding you, you can't find a way out. There's no open space that would allow you to escape.

You eye the other side of the lake with a shudder, noting that it looks to be more rough there with a few ledges and ridges you can probably use to haul yourself up. The only problem is; you'll have to actually swim across the deep body of water first. It sounds like a sure-fire way to get yourself eaten, though you doubt staying here is much better. The creature must've kept you alive and brought you here for a reason, and you're really don't want to find out why that is.

A pained gasp escapes you as you pull your right shoulder back. The initial adrenaline and panic when you woke up must've blocked out most of the hurt of your dislocated shoulder but now that it's starting to fade, it's coming back fast. The bone is still very much popped out of its socket, the area inflamed and swollen as you lightly touch it with trembling fingers. You swallow thickly as your arm begins to twitch, a burning spasm racing from your shoulder to the tips of your hands.

You bite down on your lip to stop your groan, tasting blood as the involuntary cramp continues. 

"Fuck," You wheeze, eyes glazing over as you stare at the rising sun. If you're going to have any chance of escaping, you have no choice but to fix your shoulder. 

You stuff the damp material of your shirt into your mouth, hoping it'll be enough to muffle your voice as you carefully lie back down on the stone. Years on the sea has taught you a thing or two and dislocated shoulders are a common injury when you're part of a crew that loves to brawl whenever they visit a tavern. You've seen the way they pale and yell when it gets adjusted and while you have no idea if the siren will be able to hear you scream – you'd rather not risk it. 

White hot pain pulses out of your shoulder as you extend the arm to raise it above your head, your vision blurring as you slowly reach for your opposite shoulder behind your head. It hurts, gods, it hurts, but you have to do this. You release a muffled scream as the dislocated bone finally pops back into place, cold sweat dripping down your temple as you tremor with pain. You lay there, harshly panting through the cloth in your mouth, until the hurt subsides to only an ache.

You wince as you push yourself off the hard stone, spitting out your shirt to release a labored breath. Your body feels battered and bruised, completely worn down from all the horrors you've been through in the past six or so hours. You have no idea if you even have enough energy to make it across the lake, the distance probably greater than it looks, but what other alternative do you have? 

Just as you're about to get off the ground, the sound of a soft splash echoes between the mountain walls. You jerk, heart skipping a painful beat in your chest as you frantically scan the water. You freeze when you notice how the surface is rippling much closer than expected, only a third of the lake between you and the waves that are parting around a dark shadow.

Out of instinct, your hand falls to your hip, searching for your knife. Your fingers only grip around air, the smooth handle nowhere to be found. In your panic, it takes you a second too long to remember that you held it as you fell from the ship, the knife probably lost somewhere at the bottom of the passage.

You scramble back on the rock as the creature's outline becomes visible, hands reaching out blindly behind your back for anything that can be used as a weapon. 

You falter, blood running cold, as pale arms suddenly reach out of the water, planting themselves square on the edge of the rock. The siren heaves himself up without any issues, resting his back against one of the larger stones that's lining the flat extension of the cave. Water drips off his body like sparkling crystals in the morning light, giving a healthy glow to his otherwise almost sickly white skin. His long black hair hangs like a curtain in front of his face, the strands reaching far past his back, dipping into the water. 

Patches of scales litter his arms and abdomen; a long fin running down the length of his spine. You find it hard to believe your own eyes as you stare at his stomach, at the area where the creature's human-like qualities disappear completely and transitions into that of a fish. His tail is long and thick, dreadfully similar to a serpent in the way it undulates on the rock as the water slowly evaporates from its scales. The slight movement allows the sun to dance across the siren's tail, showing off the iridescent glow that was hidden by the dark night. The sight leaves you transfixed, hues of colors you've only seen in the sky shimmering across his body.

Your attention is only stolen away when the creature raises one of his hands, his webbed fingers and pointed, long nails looking like they've been dipped in black ink. He runs his claws through his hair, parting the long locks that've been hiding his face.

You jerk back, swallowing thickly, when you find that the siren is already staring in your direction. His eyes are just as dark and emotionless as you can recall from the night before, two endless pools of black. The lack of a discernible pupil is unnerving, it makes it all that much harder to tell just where the creature is really looking. Long lashes frame his haunting eyes and the perfect slope of his nose leads down to the plushest, red lips you've ever seen.

You feel yourself pale as he opens his mouth, those horrible sharp teeth becoming visible as he calmly says, "Your knife is long gone, human." The siren dips his head slightly, looking at the way your hand is still resting near your hip, desperate for the familiar comfort of your knife. 

What?

Your mouth parts in disbelief, brain slow to compute the fact that the creature just spoke, out loud, with a voice that sounded eerily human and ordinary. 

"Can you not talk, pet? I swear I heard your sweet voice refusing me when the moon was high." 

"I-I can," You stumble over your words, tongue twisting in your mouth under the siren's watchful gaze. 

"Wonderful!" Something pleased passes over his face, his fin hitting the water with an excited splash. The loud sound makes you flinch, droplets spraying up on the rock just shy of your legs. The corner of the siren's lips quirks at your reaction, as if he finds it funny.

It reminds you of the way your crew used to look at street dogs, their expressions taunting and terrible as they made them do tricks for scraps of food.

It's cheap entertainment, they always used to tell you. 

You can't help but wonder if that's what you are – mere entertainment for the siren until he decides to stop playing with his food.

The thought makes you furious. The mocking twist of his lips gives you a sudden rush of defiance, your rebellious nature rearing its head despite the dangerous predator right in front of you. Perhaps there might have been some truth to what your captain always liked to say – you never quite learned when to back down and keep quiet. 

You breathe in slowly through your nose, attempting to calm your racing heart as you say, "How are you speaking a language I understand?" 

"Easy. Humans are simple creatures and so are their languages," He answers, cocking his head.

"What are you, then?" You blurt, "Parts of you look human and the rest does not. Were you cursed?" 

Like the flip of a coin, the siren's expression turns hard, offended, at the insinuation that he might be human. He jerks forward, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp teeth as he lets out a terrible hiss. The sight sends all the alarm bells inside of you blaring, your shoulder screaming in protest as you collapse backward, using your elbows to drag yourself further inside the cave. 

"I am not a fragile human," He scoffs, turning his head to glance out on the lake. He flexes his tail to deliver another harsh smack to the water surface, the sound bouncing between the walls of crater. "Have you not heard stories, little human? Of creatures blessed with qualities of the sea and land?"

It takes you a moment to regain your voice, fear making it tremble as you carefully say, "Do you mean mermaids?"

"Correct, pet," He hums, "I see you're not completely hopeless." 

You dig your nails into flat rock, voice tight as you ask, "What about the singing? You.. you made everyone jump. I didn't know mermaids could do that." 

The siren looks wistful as tips his head back to face the sun. He closes his eyes with a small sigh, "Life becomes tedious when you stay in the same place for too long. I needed something new, so I left my brothers for colder water after hearing about these great big things that moved through the oceans there. Hm... I wonder if the ships have managed to reach them yet, it must be close to fifty humans years since I left." 

You blink, shocked that the siren is well over twice your age. He looks young, definitely not a day older than you, but you suppose creatures like him must age at a different rate. Clearly the world is much different from what you first thought – slow aging is likely the least fantastical thing out there to discover. 

"The ships lost their charm quickly," He adds, "But the humans on-board were fascinating. They called out to each other in melodies, both happy and sad as they sailed through my home. I was alone here at first, few of my kind dared to venture into colder climates, so the humans were all I had for company. It took me many human years to reshape my throat but I eventually learned to mimic their sounds. After that it was easy to learn the most common tongues that passed through my water."

"One day a ship of humans heard me singing and came looking for the source instead of passing me by – that was when I realized it was a wonderful way to lure you in. Your species have always been much too curious for your own good," The sun catches on the siren's teeth as he grins, highlighting the rows of fangs lining his mouth. 

You shudder, stomach turning at how easily he speaks of the hundreds, if not thousands, of people he must have murdered over the years.

"Many moons passed and I grew tired of playing with my food. I found a sea witch – awfully slippery creatures – that gave me part of her magic, making it possible for me to enthrall humans from a greater distance. She was of great help, quite tasty too." 

You can only stare at him in silence, lips pressed together tightly to hold back the acid burning at the back of your throat. 

"I believe you humans created a name for me – to ward off others from crossing my path," He cocks his head, expectant, as he sends you a side-ways look. 

"You're a siren," You whisper, pulling yourself back another inch.

"The one and only, pet," He purrs. "Though, I would prefer that you would utter my real name over something made up. Try saying Seokjin for me, little human." 

You'd rather force your shoulder back into its socket a hundred times before complying to a monster's wishes, but it isn't exactly a request you can refuse.

 So you grit your teeth, forcing out a stilted, "S-Seokjin." 

Disgust curls deep in your stomach as the siren's tail once again quivers back and forth, seemingly pleased with your acquiescence. 

You look across the lake at the unmoving mountain, mustering up the courage to ask the question that's been at the forefront of your mind ever since you woke up. "What happened to my crew?" You ask weakly, "Are any of them still alive?"

"No."

The answer comes easily, no hint of remorse or guilt in the siren's voice.

You can feel your nails ache and splinter against the rock as you scrape them across the surface, desperate for something to hold on to as you say, "Did you ... Did you eat them?" 

"Of course. Do you expect me to starve?" Seokjin replies impassively, "You humans hunt your food too, I've seen how you use those rope contraptions to gather up fish." 

You knew there was little chance of other survivors, but the confirmation still feels like a shock. Your vision swims, hot tears burning your eyes as unwelcome images of your crew – your captain – eaten by the very creature in front of you, flashes across your mind. 

"We don't hunt other humans! Nothing this close to our own species!" You cry, voice rising with anger as grief twists itself around your heart. Your crew might not have been much, but they were still the closest thing you had to a family – a home.

Seokjin looks unmoved by your outburst, bored almost, as he says, "Pet, this is how the ocean works. Do you lecture fish when they eat their smaller brethren? Species do not matter. It's either kill or die here." 

"Then why am I alive?" You ask, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat.

The siren seems to perk up your question, scales glistening as he straightens up against the rock. He finally turns his head to face to you fully, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. "See, little human, now you're finally asking the right thing. I find you fascinating – I haven't had a human pique my interest in many moons. I want to know how you managed to resist me for that long, why my thrall isn't as effective on you. What makes you so different from all the other humans that have jumped so willingly into my water?"

A foreboding sense of unease washes over you as Seokjin speaks, every muscle in your body tensing with fear. The siren wants to study you? The only way he can do that is to continue to use his thrall - his voice - and make you do things you do not want to do. He can force you to present your limbs for nibbling and you'll be none the wiser until it's too late. 

"I don't know," You shake your head, "I-I didn't even know you existed until last night!"

"How disappointing," Seokjin clicks, the flicker of emotion on his face once again melting away to nothing. "Well then, pet, as expected, it seems you will be staying here until my curiosity is sated."

"What?" You clamber to your knees, gripping them tightly to keep yourself from doing something as humiliating as bowing – begging – the awful creature in front of you for an ounce of humanity that he clearly does not have. 

"You can't do that, I can't stay here!" 

"Then jump in the water and see how long you last," Seokjin once again flicks his strong tail, the harsh smack sending a tremble down your spine. 

The siren's lips part into a something akin to a twisted smile, his blood speckled teeth making you sick as he hums, "Your thighs look delectable, little human, and I am quite prone to an early morning snack. So unless you want to watch as I eat you alive, you better stay put."

There's a minuscule quirk to his brows, a challenge, as he watches you absorb his words. Seokjin doesn't wait for you to give him an answer, your stunned silence more than enough for him. He doesn't spare you another glance as he pushes himself off the rock, effortlessly jumping back into the lake. It only takes a few seconds, a couple of strong flaps of his fin, before he disappears from view and his dark tail is nowhere to be seen.

You find yourself frozen to the spot, unable to move as you stare mindlessly at the spot Seokjin entered the water. The harsh ripples dancing over the surface is the only proof you have that you haven't lost your mind, that all of this is actually real. 

Pressing your hands to your face, you finally allow your body to break, to mourn, as you release pained sobs into your palms. Everything hurts. Your body, your mind, your heart. You have no idea how you're going to escape to the mountain on the other side, and even if you do, then what? The siren can just use his song to lure you back down. 

Seokjin has made the situation very clear. You can try to cross the lake and dive straight into your own grave, or you let him do what he wants. Either way – you fear it won't take long before the siren makes good on his promise.

You don't doubt it'll amuse him to make you watch as he tears you apart, piece by piece.

a/n: hello folks!! we are once again diving back into the TCS universe, only this time with seokjin as our lead mermaid! what do you think about him and his siren powers so far? this will likely only be a two part series, with more yandere behaviour and some smut in the final chapter, so if you enjoy the story so far please let me know! it’s really motivating to hear your thoughts and read your comments (and reblogs help a lot)!! 

the final chapter will likely be posted in july if there’s enough interest for it 🧜‍♀️

in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

[dsudis]

Adaptive Tea Making

For @domaystic Day 5: Learning Something New.

Dream is human now, and determined to learn how to make his beloved a cup of tea. He just has a small difficulty with time to get over.

___

Hob looked over at Dream, who was perched on a stool at the kitchen bench with his ever-present notebook open to a fresh page, his phone unlocked beside it, and an actual stopwatch beside that. He had a pencil in his hand, freshly sharpened, and a second pencil also perfectly sharpened set beside the notebook.

Hob had secondhand text anxiety just looking at those pencils. 

"Ready?" Hob asked, though surely it was not possible to be more ready than Dream currently was. 

Dream didn't even meet his gaze, his eyes fixed firmly on Hob's hands. "Ready. Please show me, one more time, how to make a cup of tea the way you like it." 

As Dream spoke he wrote on the pristine notebook page: Hob's tea instructions. His handwriting was crooked and crabbed but legible. 

"So--there's water in the kettle already," Hob said, feeling like possibly he was the one being tested. However he made this cup of tea, Dream would continue making this exact cup of tea for him forever. 

Hob was fine with that. Hob would frankly have been fine with continuing to get wildly undrinkable cups of tea from Dream forever, but Dream was determined to learn this particular human skill correctly, and seemed somehow convinced that this time he was going to crack it. 

Hob flipped the switch. Dream turned on a timer on his phone and then wrote down the first two steps: water in kettle and turn on kettle. He also wrote to one side, Phone timer: total length of process and drew a little line beside it to be filled in with a number later. 

They had learned, after Dream had committed a series of frankly baffling tea mishaps including "hot water with no detectable trace of tea" and "oversteeped to the point of activating an immortal's gag reflex through sheer bitterness" and "boiled the kettle dry" that Dream had no real sense of how time passed. It passed how he wished it to pass, in the Dreaming, and even in the Waking he had always been able to nudge reality a bit to make the flow of time conform to his narrative sense or personal convenience.  

Now that he was divested of those powers and operating a human body, the linear flow of time had so far made absolutely no impression on Dream. Hob had had to point out to him things like "if you wake up and it is still dark, it is still night, and you will probably want to go back to sleep until it's light out" and how often meals should happen.  

It was the tea that had made it clear that even telling Dream times when things should happen was not very helpful to him. He couldn't seem to hold the numbers in his head or make sense of them when he consulted a clock. Hob had simply started giving him other ways of gauging the passage of time, teaching him about the sun's position in the sky at mealtimes and when Hob returned from work, and about the activity of people visible from the windows, and which programs on the telly corresponded reliably to morning, afternoon, and evening. 

Hob had spent long stretches of time--most of his life, really--without access to clocks. People nowadays were obsessed with them, and with precise timing for everything, but Dream wouldn't need to worry about being punctual to a work shift or keeping all sorts of appointments. Hob could help him with where precision was needed, and could teach him to get along where it wasn't. 

Tea, unfortunately, was a matter of some precision. When the kettle let out the first gurgles, Hob grabbed the tea canister. "Plenty of times I just use bag tea, but my insufferably posh lover seems set on spoiling me, so," Hob scooped tea into the strawberry-shaped infuser. "This is what we've got in place of a tea bag. Time-wise, either should work the same." 

Dream faithfully wrote down prepare infuser (or tea bag).

"The timing for the kettle will change a bit. A smaller amount of water boils faster. There's a bit over two cups in right now," Hob pointed to the line on the side, "so it takes a little over two minutes." 

Dream wrote down kettle boils and then waited watchfully until the kettle hit its automatic shutoff and consulted the time. Kettle shuts off, he wrote down, and then 2:38 with a tidy little asterisk beside it.

"Infuser goes in mug," Hob narrated. "Pour the water over it, leave about an inch at the top for milk. And start your stopwatch, because this is the bit I couldn't tell you, because I do it by feel." 

Dream started the stopwatch and scribbled down more notes, drawing a little box for the all-important steeping time to be entered. Hob watched the mug, wondering once again how he did know when it was done steeping. He'd tried more than once to describe it to Dream, but none of his descriptions had been at all helpful--as proven by the various disastrous cups of tea--and had only frustrated both of them. 

He wanted to fill the silence, but Hob didn't dare mess this up for Dream, when he was so determined to get this right. Most of human life had come easily enough to him, once he set himself to adapt to it, but tea had thwarted him. Hob was a little worried that Dream was building this up into some kind of epic battle of wills he had to win to Succeed At Being Human. 

Dream looked up at him expectantly and Hob looked back down at his mug, a little worried that he'd gotten distracted--he'd certainly oversteeped his tea enough times for one reason or another--but no, a sniff and a glance told him it wasn't quite there yet. "Almost," Hob said. "Not really a bad cup of tea if you stop now, but not quite." He drummed his fingers, waiting for-- 

"Ah," Hob said, "Now." He reached for the infuser and lifted it out, and the stopwatch clicked at the exact instant it cleared the top of the mug. Hob set the infuser in the sink and then swirled the cup of tea, giving it another sniff to be sure, but yes, that was a just-right cup of tea. He grabbed the jug of milk and looked to see that Dream was intently watching before he poured in a dollop. 

Dream's eyes narrowed slightly and then he nodded and wrote down a specific liquid volume that Hob was sure was in fact precisely correct--Dream's spatial skills were laser-accurate and slightly unnerving.  

"And a spoonful of sugar, because I'm feeling like it today," Hob said. "I do honey sometimes. Sometimes two spoonfuls of sugar." He stirred in the sugar and sipped. "And that's--" 

Dream clicked the timer on his phone and recorded the time, then picked up the phone and tapped rapidly at it. "Tell me that the water should boil about now," Dream said, and held out the phone like a reporter's microphone. 

"Water should be boiling about now," Hob parroted obediently.  

Dream nodded, tapped at the phone again, and said, "Now tell me the tea is ready."  

When Dream held out the phone, Hob said, "Tea's ready, love." 

Dream was startled into a smile at that addition, and asked, "How is it?" 

"Just right," Hob said. "But if you--" 

Dream shook his head, still smiling, and went back to tapping at things on his phone. "These things are amazing, you know?" Dream said. "I thought I would have to learn magic, but these are like little prosthetic memories. If you work out all the steps, you can make it do all these things for you. Well, not for you, you don't need it. For me." 

"I mean, I'd be lost without my calendar and things," Hob said. He'd never thought of technology to solve Dream's difficulty with time. He'd thought it was just more clocks all the way down, there. 

"Watch," Dream said, and then, to his phone, "Computer, making a cup of tea." 

"Acknowledged," his phone replied, because Dream had watched possibly too many sci-fi movies with Hob at what had turned out to be a formative time in his life. "When there is water in the kettle, turn the kettle on." 

Dream mimed flipping the switch on the kettle. 

Nothing happened, since Dream was still a good yard away from the kettle. Reminded, Hob ran some more water into it and put it back. He was sipping his tea again and nearly choked on it when his own voice came from Dream's phone. "Water should be boiling about now." 

"Computer, wait," Dream said, and the phone was back to its Computer voice when it said, "Acknowledged." 

"In case there is more water in the kettle," Dream said. "If there is less, I will be able to tell it to skip ahead when the water boils." 

"Computer, resume," Dream added to the phone. 

"Prepare the infuser, then pour boiling water over it." 

Dream mimed dropping the infuser into the mug, then pouring the water. "Computer, steeping." 

"Steeping," the computer said, sounding slightly stilted like it had had to assemble that word from individual sounds instead of having it pre-recorded.  

"I'll be able to use this for anything to do with timing," Dream said, scratching down more notes in his notebook. "I just have to set the intervals and key phrases, and optionally recordings for specific announcements, and then I will be able to do things that need timing. As long as I have my phone. Possibly I should get one of those watches." 

"That's no trouble, then," Hob said, pulling out his own phone to order a watch to sync with Dream's phone. "And you know I'm always happy to be your speaking clock, love."  

Dream came around the bench and kissed him, curling a hand around Hob's on his mug. "I shall feed you your lines when I need them," Dream said, and somehow it was desperately romantic and made Hob so proud he could cry, knowing Dream knew that Hob would always be glad to help him do things in his own way. 

He opened his mouth to try to say it, his heart almost too full for words, and was cut off by his own voice from Dream's phone. "Tea's ready, love." 

[Now on Ao3!]

[mononijikayu]

i think the whole situation of the driftmark incident was far more interesting in the books because it was really so layered and just as much when you read it, full of bias from the writers of the dance and just as much, perspectives by readers themselves when analyzing.

whole reason for aemond being mad about it was the fact that his father made a comment regarding his boldness. mind you he was a ten year old. viserys was making a comment about his ten year old son and if he would be bold enough to claim a dragon when they get to dragonstone.

a lot from the generation viserys belonged to got their dragon when they were a bit older. viserys bonded with balerion when he was sixteen, rhaenys bonded with meleys at thirteen. viserys's own parents got their dragons later in their teens.

so its best to assume that viserys is not making an antagonizing comment, but wondering if aemond would take the initiative so young regarding getting a dragon. example, rhaenyra bonded with syrax at seven. he's wondering if aemond would be the same when they get to dragonstone.

so aemond's ten year old self perceived this as antagonizing because out of his siblings, he was the only one without one. even his nephews hatched dragons from the egg. he wanted something so badly, he did not care what it took to get it. even if it hurt other people.

dragons cannot be stolen, dragons bond with anyone they deem worthy. BUT aemond chose the wrong time and the wrong place. he chose a FUNERAL. now, aemond knew he was a guest in driftmark. he should have been on his best behaviour but instead, he chose to prove his dad 'wrong'.

now its mentioned in this passage of the book that dragons are dangerous. and it was right for aemond to assume that without oversight, without dragon keepers, he would not be allowed near a dragon. not lest without any training either. but three year old joff warns him.

remember, joff was only three year old but was well aware about how dragons behave as he has his own named tyraxes. so he was worried that his uncle would put himself in danger knowing there is no oversight. but all aemond cared about was this opportunity and feared getting caught.

so what does ten year old aemond does to his three year old nephew? he pushes him hard onto the dragon dropplings and young joff began to cry because aemond decided to hurt him for warning him about an ancient war dragon who could have killed him.

joff was just hurt by his uncle rushed off to find his brothers, tell them what happened and asked them for help. they ran off to the pit with wooden swords. these kids were younger but they were furious about what happened to their brother and attacked much older aemond.

but because aemond was much older than them, he fought hard against the younger boys and broke luke's nose with a punch and was able to break the wooden sword from joff and hit jace with it to the point he was on his knees. the two boys were scared and backed off.

now they were frightened, aemond laughed and mocked their parentage. jace, being able to understand it, lunged at aemond again. this was a boy who just finished burying his dad and these rumours might be unpleasant to hear for him. but aemond was stronger and attacked jace HARD.

thats when lucerys decided to unsheath a hidden blade, too scared that his brother would DIE by aemond's hand. the fight continued for a while but the stableboy found them and stopped the fight from continuing.

now what was interesting about the people who wrote these accounts is the fact that they focused heavily on the bastard accusations MORE than the fact that the velaryon boys would have lost a brother had lucerys not acted quickly. so it was odd that rhaenyra herself focuses on a different factor than her kids being safe and sound.

the fact that her sons were being called bastards first before they were near death from what aemond did to them was baffling to me. it would make more sense that rhaenyra would be calling for aemond to be questioned sharply for what he did to her sons, the bastardry rumours was secondary but just as much important—but not as dire as the lives of her young sons.

it is still relevant because these rumours were put to bed many MANY years ago when the eggs of the velaryon boys hatched. it was the greens who continued perpetuating it and being head of the green faction, it would be alicent helping spread these rumours at court.

that is why it makes sense that aemond points to his brother aegon, because both of them would have known that it is their mother that was spreading the rumours and it would be aemond covering up for his mother and how it was her who was the complete source of the rumours.

it is also worth noting that it is alicent who started calling for violence first as well, asking that the eye of lucerys be taken out. her first response to the fact that her son had nearly killed someone and how others took self defense was to have someone maimed.

she does not admit that her son started it, that her son disrespected house velaryon by what he was doing, or that he was also trying to get someone killed - no, instead she asks that someone take a five year old's eye for defending his brother from murder.

it is also interesting that viserys put his foot down here and said that any person who decides to say any more words about bastardry rumours should have their tongue removed. it seems viserys is doing something here, but it doesnt apply internally as the strife only continues.

because aemond did not learn his lesson nor does he apologize, all he says is that it doesn't matter that his eye was cut out. his foolishness, his greed, led him to vhagar, an ancient war dragon. and it was fair to him that his choice had an equal price. which he later recants

because this is part of the reason why aemond attacks lucerys later on at storms end. even when he brags that his dragon was worth it, it is clear that his choice at driftmark affects him, because the control over his body was taken by his choice and he likes power and control.

that being said, i think this could have been adapted for the television show because these layers make it more interesting. just as much human as what they wanna force in the television show, but way more interesting to me. human choices are still part of humanity. its the very layers of shadows humans want to not consider human, because its terrifying. but to deny it and just change it would be to deny humans of the layers they conflict with everyday. its a shame, to have not been shown this in the show.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

yo ho

pirate king wanda x fem reader

words: 1.2k

inspired by pirates of the caribbean bc i'm a slut for that movie and i'm so sorry about it

part 2 ❀ part 3 ❀ part 4

At the first sound of them bursting through the gates, their bellowing voices echoing into the night as they march up the pathway leading to the Manor, you feel only excitement. Shrugging your dressing gown on, you run to your window, seeing them approaching closer and closer. You make a silent vow to yourself to help them steal whatever they want. Perhaps it will put you in their favor.

You know you should feel fear, but the thrill of meeting real pirates far outweighs any logical reaction that should consume you. Your lady’s maids, however, do not share the same sentiment, the panic clear on their faces.

“If you go now you’ll have just enough time to get to the fort,” you say, calm and collected. “I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

It’s a lie, but they don’t need to know that.

“But Miss—“ one of the maids starts, eyes wide, clutching your hands tightly.

“Go! You haven’t much time left,” you insist as you push them to the door.

They hesitate barely a second before they’re dashing out the back. It’s not a moment too soon, because the front doors are kicked in seconds later. Heart racing, you hide in the corridor, watching them spread out and begin gathering whatever is most valuable.

One pirate catches your eye. They enter in a much more sedate manner, pausing in the foyer and looking around. You see their lip curl in disgust as they turn on their heel and make their way to the second floor. You wish to follow them, so you tiptoe to the staircase, checking over your shoulder every couple seconds.

Barely two steps onto the landing and you're face to face with the very pirate you’d followed.

“Trying to be brave?”

Their voice—her voice startles you. This close it’s easier to tell that this pirate is definitely not a man. Though she wears trousers and a coat, a hat nestled atop her long, sun-kissed hair, there’s no mistaking she’s a woman the moment she speaks. It allows you to evaluate her features better, note the softness of her jaw despite its sharp angles.

“Well?” she prompts, impatient, hand on the hilt of her sword.

You blink. “The paintings,” you blurt.

She raises a thick brow. “Pardon?”

“In the study,” you clarify, swallowing roughly. “It’s the last room on the right. The paintings there are worth several thousand pounds.”

She tilts her head curiously, eyeing you from your face to your bare feet. You will yourself not to fidget beneath her stare.

“Do you think helping me will keep you from harm?”

You lift your chin slightly. “Call it a bargain.”

“A bargain,” she repeats, lips tipping up in amusement. She takes a step closer to you. “And what, exactly, makes you think you’re in a position to make a bargain with a pirate?”

You meet her gaze as steadily as you can. “I know this port like the back of my hand. My father is the governor and we have close ties to the Navy. I know where they’ll be waiting and watching. I can make sure we set sail without any hassle.”

“We?” she interrupts, baffled.

“Yes. We. I wish to depart with you in exchange for all the valuables in my father’s home.”

She laughs. “I hate to disappoint this fantastical dream of yours, but we’ll be taking everything regardless, Miss.”

“There are some hidden, thousands of pounds worth, tucked away in places only I and my father know.”

She doesn’t say anything for a tense moment. Your heart continues beating wildly in your chest, hoping and praying she’ll take your bargain. Your hands curl into fists around the fabric of your dressing gown.

“We can’t bring someone along just because they asked us to,” she reasons. “What would you be able to offer to us aboard the Scarlet Pearl?”

You inhale sharply. “Pirate King Maximoff’s ship?” you whisper, awed.

“Aye, the very one,” she confirms. “Do you simply seek safe passage elsewhere?”

You glance around the home you grew up in, at the chandeliers and gold filigree and candelabras. “This was not meant for me,” you confess. “I do not belong in this life. I can no longer live here knowing I want for nothing while others suffer. It’s not fair. It’s not right. And I do not care where I end up, for that matter, so long as I’m not here anymore.”

She gives you a calculating look. You wonder what she’s thinking, unable to get a good read on her. You suppose that’s to be expected with a pirate. They have to keep their cards close to their chests, otherwise they risk mutiny or double-crossing. But if this pirate is really from the Scarlet Pearl, as she claims, then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

You hold her stare and will yourself to remain unwavering. Finally, she nods.

“Very well, we have an accord. We’ll finish gathering everything and you’ll be taken aboard.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, relief coursing through you, as well as your excitement building once more.

She holds her hand out for you to shake. You bite the inside of your cheek at the warmth of her palm, at the feel of callouses along her skin that touch the contradicting softness of your own hand. You catch her assessing the swell of your breasts in your nightclothes, yet when she meets your surprised eyes again, her smile is unapologetic. It sends a curious shiver down your spine.

You point her and the other pirates to where the hidden valuables are, hurrying to your bedchambers to grab anything of your own that you can’t bear to part with. Slipping on a pair of boots you bought ages ago without your father knowing, you scan your room one last time, then quickly make your way down the stairs. She’s waiting for you by the entryway, lazily swinging a gold pocket watch as she watches out the windows. At the sound of you, she turns and eyes the small satchel you’re carrying.

“You have everything you need? We won’t be returning.”

You bite your lip and cast a parting gaze on your home. You nod resolutely.

“Yes. I’m ready to go,” you say, firm in your belief that this is the right thing to do.

She smiles. “Then follow me, princess.”

Your eyes narrow at the nickname, but you bite back your retort. You need to be in her good graces, after all.

As the both of you walk—which consists of you struggling to keep up with her long paces—you strategize on the best route of the port.

“Are you… Will you be the one telling Pirate King Maximoff all of this?” you ask curiously, cautiously.

She snorts. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

Before you can ask what that’s supposed to mean, you reach a dinghy. A few men are waiting in it, standing to attention as you and the pirate approach. You can see others already rowing back to the sizable ship in the distance.

“Last chance to change your mind, princess.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you reply, making her laugh.

“Very well.”

She holds a hand out to you to help you step into the dinghy. As you sit down between her and another pirate—who, upon closer inspection, is also a woman with dark red hair and sharp eyes—you know, deep in your bones, that you’ve just taken the first step toward an adventure of a lifetime.

[starleska]

I think it's kinda funny how like 90 % of FNAF fans either had or have a thing for William. If a version of him didn't get you rest assured there will be one in the future that will. It awaits all people in the FNAF fandom. Maybe it's a law not unlike Murphy's laws, maybe it's an age-old tradition, maybe it's a rite of passage, who knows, but what is known is that it does happen, has always happened, and will continue to happen forever. 😂

this is so true 😂💖 honestly it is a miracle that i wasn't suckered in by the original wave of lust for that initial Purple Guy iteration, but at the time i was too preoccupied by creepypasta characters and Sans 🙈 what is baffling me is the sheer amount of lore there is!!!! just by sheer statistical probability there are so many attributes and versions of this guy that he's bound to get us all eventually 🤭💖

[queerlyvictorian]

Idk what this episode did to me, but I have even more thoughts I need to get out. Because I haven’t even considered Eursulon yet!

EP. 22 SPOILERS BELOW

I understand Eursulon perfectly. I as an audience member was always nervous about how easily our Wild One acclimated to city life in the Citadel. Obalfind (sp?) was voicing all of my own worst fears about the precarity of Eursulon’s current position of safety and relative privilege. The more we learned about the Wizard Stripe, the more I could feel that Eursulon stopped feeling like he belonged here. I’ll be thinking about that Deception escape for a long time. Starting off by blending in and attempting just look “normal,” until at a dead sprint, the butterflies land, and Brennan hints that they might be here in response to Eursulon’s sister’s deception and subsequent escape. And then “in defiance of this place” he drops his glamour. And as he runs headlong in danger, he finds that his sister prepared the way for him. An added inspiration to help him leave this place like she had to.

As far as his options go…

Follow Ame. The clearest choice. It was what he was already doing, and on a meta level, it most aligns with the plot of the arc. I wouldn’t be upset by this decision, but maybe slightly disappointed at the lost potential of the other options (one in particular)

Descend the burrow. This is the choice I’m pulling for. If Eusulon chooses to pass it by for Ame’s safety, that in of itself is a complex decision that will be have repercussions going forward, but I’m SO curious about this off-the-path option. Will it take him to the Near Spirit? Could it actually take him directly to Kalaia? I want to knowwwww, and I don’t have confidence that we will know where it leads unless Eursulon makes a selfish choice and continues down the trail his sister left for him.

Turn back to face the Stranger. The least obvious. I’ll be a little baffled if Lou as Eursulon decides this is the route to go. The Stranger’s appearance establishes fascinating lore about his possible relationship with roads (like, is he the Taboo of Passage?), but I don’t know what choosing him does meaningfully for the story being told other than derail it in a fruitful but a little too chaotic of a direction

We shall see what the answer is, but it’ll definitely be interesting, regardless of the option Eursulon choses.

[runner-owen]

His mouth watered at the thought.

It didn’t make much sense to Owen, this desire, this hunger for something he could not have, and did not need. And yet, still it haunted him, appearing without warning when least expected and least desired. Like a need as much as touch and loving companionship, this… thirst for blood.

Humans struggled to understand the differences between the sexes - how could they truly understand the differences between human and vampire? Owen read what information he could, his curiosity as insatiable as the toxic desire itself, and yet, it seemed humanity came up empty, every time. No bodies could be acquired from a vampire, after all. Even lockets, the metal shield that guarded the vampire’s heart, did not seem to stay in human hands for long. The steps involved in turning a man into a monster were well-recorded, and baffling nonetheless. Some were clearly unnecessary. Some called on a magic no human could. Some couldn’t be true at all, but had to have been inserted within the instructions to deceive humanity. So the arguments went, bouncing off the walls of the university and scientific institutions and written in the pages of so many, many books.

And none of their theories or posturing helped him understand. 

Owen was human, was he not? - and yet, he desired blood.

In his dreams he saw his lips kissing velvet soft brown skin, his pale hands intertwining with the thousand braids of the prince’s hair. His tongue traced over the vein. His eyes watched Lord Aurum moan.

And the dreams continued long after that, to places Owen refused to dwell on. Places that his mind refused to thrust back into the coffin of his subconscious. In the long moments before crawling from bed, he lay beneath the bedding, staring up at the ceiling, unable to escape it. The dream repeating, like a passage read over and over, even with his eyes open.

“Have you been dreaming again, Runner?” Lord Aurum asked once, as he tilted Owen’s face up to better look behind the glasses. “Your eyes are so red.”

And they were red indeed. Vampire red. Blood red. Red as the blood his monstrous parent drank. Red as the blood his anonymous human parent bled. Red as the blood that wept into Owen’s mouth, that danced down deep brown skin, in those hideous dreams.

“I have,” Owen admitted. 

Lord Aurum shook his head, but said no more. And Owen was grateful for that small mercy. How could he ever explain it... That the only blood he’d ever wanted was Lord Aurum’s?

[nalyra-dreaming]

Rewatch thoughts episode 2

The groan is really prominent. And we must be past QotD for that art to be on the wall, like, I cannot see Armand hanging that prior to some kind of a reunion.

Also the music being Sybille‘s preferred one is interesting to say the least. (At least I think it is ?)

The guy bringing the AB negative… I wonder if that may be one of the vampires, too. The extra shot… David, maybe. (IF he hasn’t been introduced in Mayfair Witches episode 6 just now).

The spark being a reference to Memnoch is just such a nice touch.

The wine comparisons are very nice, considering how there’s always bottles/alcohol in their home (especially when laying low later).

Louis wanting to go for that guy had to seem to Lestat as if his… inclinations were closer to his re fun and sex imho. He probably should‘ve let him…

Sam had lost the nail on the right middle finger. Cannot unsee now 🙈

The broadcasting is very deliberately shot.

Lestat totally enjoyed being thrown around the room. And he also relished a lot getting to carry Louis. I wonder how often he might have done that… the carrying bridal style I mean. If Louis let that happen after. (I can totally see it in their good times).

You can be on top. Mh hmmmm. All the ash and blood in Lestat’s coffin? Did he scrub the lining after? ;))

The fact that Louis had nightmares is so… did Lestat hold him then? They are obviously discussing it. Did they continue to sleep together later for that reason, too? And when they didn’t anymore… that probably didn’t help either.

The almost sharp retort and challenge to peel back on Louis… lol.

And the bitching between Lestat and Mama Du Lac is still hilarious.

Grace calling Louis better you… 😭 So heartbreaking that it had to go wrong at some point.

The slight smile when Louis recalls the unfortunate incident with the business man… lol. You can still see the edges of that anger even in modern Dubai.

Also, on that - Lestat’s library of confusion is so on point (as is their whole argument) bc Lestat just doesn’t get that. I‘ve said it before it’s not willful imho, but… he just doesn’t get it.

And that broadcasting once more when realizing he cannot say no… (despite his better judgement).

A cigar is a cigar is a cigar… or not. 😈 (Them almost cracking up makes me crack up lol).

I still doubt he ate the baby, they would have come after them if he had. BUT I like the moral question posed. Also, knowing Lestat did in Notre Dame and NOLA while recuperating … maybe a parallel to season 2 later. I‘d love that.

The brute in Madagascar. WHO TF is that supposed to be.

Lestat telling Louis of the rite of passage (and generally being rather aware) is often overlooked for the further developments imho. Because we’re still well within a mortal lifetime… that rite of passage coincides with what is happening later.

The opera scene is still baffling to me - to know this was their first scene. The… feeling there already.

The way Louis softens to the tuxedos…. and the factual intimacy of the tenor’s death. I know he says something different, but the way they supposedly drain the man for hours?! It’s easier if you can say it’s because are under someone’s thrall. Because he just before called himself a pupil for the last 6 years… he doesn’t tell anything else about those 6 years, apart from the mountain of money. Quite the skip. But Lestat calls it finally submitting to his nature… there must have been a lot more problems in regards to… eating.

The thing with Alice‘s brow always being dyed back to brown is indeed quite interesting. It’s too prominent for this show, especially given the location of eating that dessert in Paris.

[news4dzhozhar]

Plymouth couple told they can leave Gaza — but not their kids

A Plymouth, MA family that has been trapped in Gaza since the Israel-Hamas war began is still inside the enclave, after being told at a border crossing that the children would not be allowed through to Egypt.

Hazem Shafai, 47, Sanaa Shafai, 36, and their children, Seera, 13, Yomna, 10, and Jaser, 2, had already been turned away at the Rafah Crossing at the Egyptian border with Gaza multiple times over the past few weeks. Diplomatic talks produced a breakthrough earlier this week, allowing injured Palestinians and foreign nationals to escape the war zone. 

So the Shafai family traveled to the crossing again Thursday but “they were expected to leave the children behind,” Hazem’s brother Hani Shafai told The Boston Globe. 

According to Hani, Hazem and Sanaa’s names were on a list of people who would be allowed to enter Egypt, but their children’s names were not. They made the decision to return to the place where they had been sheltering. 

The fact that the children were not given safe passage baffled the family. 

“Nobody is going to just leave a 2-year-old, a 10-year-old, and a 13-year-old behind,” Hani told the Globe. “These kids were born in the U.S., they’re citizens just like everyone else, to say ‘leave them behind’ is just inhumane.”

Another Massachusetts family, also with a young child, was allowed to leave Gaza Thursday morning. Medway residents Abood Okal; his wife, Wafaa Abuzayda; and their 1-year-old son are now safely in Egypt, planning a way to return home. An attorney and family friend of theirs, Sammy Nabulsi, shared some details of how the border crossing process works. Nabulsi had been advocating for the Okal family and other U.S. residents to be let through the crossing. 

There are two lists of people who are allowed through, Nabulsi told the Globe. One is maintained by U.S. State Department officials and the other by Palestinian officials. It is Nabulsi’s understanding that those looking to escape must be on both lists, and that the Palestinian list is subject to frequent changes. 

The children’s names were apparently not on both lists, forcing the Shafai family to head back into Gaza and hope that the situation changes in the future. They are in touch with the U.S. Embassy, the State Department, and congressional representatives to coordinate an exit plan, the Globe reported. 

The humanitarian crisis in Gaza continues to spiral out of control, even with a slow trickle of aid now allowed in from Egypt. The Okal family described staying inside for days on end, surviving off canned goods and, occasionally, saltwater as bombs rained down outside. 

The Shafai family has also had trouble getting clean drinking water, Hani told the Globe. Dehydrated already, their situation was made worse when many of them contracted the flu last weekend. Most of them have recovered, but 2-year-old Jaser still has a fever and is throwing up. While he works to care for his family, Hazem is also on the hunt for desperately needed diabetes medication. 

Palestinian officials released a list of almost 600 people that were approved to leave on Thursday, Reuters reported. Those names were all checked by Israel, with the country reportedly vetting lists to make sure no Hamas fighters escape. Residents of Belgium, Greece, Sri Lanka, the Netherlands and more were included on the list. But many others were turned away, despite having valid passports. 

Egyptian national Ghada el-Saka told Reuters that she was visiting relatives in Gaza when the war broke out. She and her daughter wept in frustration at the Gaza side of the Rafah Crossing Thursday after being told that they could not cross. 

“Why are you leaving us in this destruction? We’ve seen death with our own eyes,” she said, according to Reuters. “I want to pass. We are not animals. I have Egyptian rights, we are Egyptian.”

[icantlose]

(@pilotofstorm)

"Say, Wolf..? Uh, can I ask ya somethin'?" Skippy walks in his office, rubbing his head. "I just gotta ask.. Do ya ever think of retirin'? Or not at all? I dunno if it's a weird question go ask, I'm jus' curious cause uh.. ya pretty old?"

Where once it is a striking gray, time has turned the fur around his face into a pale, almost ethereal white. The lines around his muzzle and eyes tell a story of battles fought, victories won, and scars earned. His remaining eye, a piercing blood red, seems to hold the weight of countless experiences, including the abuse of constant whiskey consumption. It is a gaze that has seen the highs and lows of the galaxy, and it bears a weariness that speaks of years spent in the unforgiving expanse of the underbelly of the Lylat System.

The fur around the lupine's good eye is tinged with a faint silver, the strands catching the light in a way that seems to shimmer with the echoes of countless sunsets. Each strand bears the weight of years, a testament to the unyielding passage of time. It is a mark of age, but also of the wisdom and cunning that has kept him at the helm of Star Wolf for so long, weathering the storms of a volatile galaxy while skirting just below the law.

As Skippy broaches the subject, Wolf can't help but notice the genuine concern in the young pilot's eyes. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, one that gives Wolf pause. He's used to being seen as unshakeable; a force of nature in the cockpit, but now, for the first time, he wonders if there are signs he's been missing.

He takes a moment to reflect, his gaze drifting to the brilliant stars beyond the reinforced window. Has he been slipping? Have there been moments when he's felt the weight of the years more acutely? It's a sobering thought, and for a brief moment, a flicker of real worry crosses his features.

Clearing his throat, Wolf straightens in his chair, masking his concern with a gruff demeanor. "Skip, don't get it in your head that I'm about to keel over any time soon... I mean, I was born with gray hairs. Some of us are just born with that... distinguished look, that rugged, aged beauty..."

Wolf smirks, a glint of mischief dancing in his eye. "So, don't go thinking these silver strands mean I'm slowin' down. If anything, they're just a reminder that I've been kickin' ass in this hellhole for a long, long time. I mean--fuck, I've been around since before your old leader's daddy's been flyin'!"

Beneath the usual Wolf O'Donnell-brand bravado, there's a flicker of something else in the elder's eye. A subtle shadow of realization that he can't entirely shake off. He's not as young as he used to be, and though he's putting on a front for Skippy, the truth lingers at the edges of his thoughts...

It's a bitter pill to swallow, but for now, he'll continue to face the worst of Lylat head-on, determined not to let age be the thing that finally brings him down. He clenches his fist, feeling the subtle ache in his bones, a stark reminder of the years of wear and tear. The hum Sargasso's many joints around him seems to carry the weight of time, echoing the very same silent march of the years that the Lord himself has been on.

if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit, right? It's a mantra O'Donnell has long lived by, a philosophy that's seen him through countless skirmishes and battles. As he reflects on it now, there's a twinge of irony in the words. The bravado, the bluster—it's all part of the act, a way to keep pushing forward even when doubts linger in the shadows.

...Just like he's always carried on.

[irisviel101]

Character Misconceptions | Raiden Ei

As someone who was exposed to Genshin Impact first through the fandom and only started playing much later, I dreaded starting the Inazuma archon quest. I had seen the myriad of opinions surrounding it, most of them negative, and I was constantly waiting for the story to fall flat on its face.

I won't lie, the Inazuma archon is probably the weakest so far but it is not as bad I had been lead to believe.

The GI fandom has a tendency to flanderize character traits and the popular character interpretation aren't always supported by canon (e.g.: Xiao being reduced to a Sasuke-like emo), but despite knowing this to some extent, I was pleasantly surprised with the amount of depth Ei's character really has.

Ei is an immortal being, the twin sister of the God of Eternity. She used to pose as her sister, leading the armies of Inazuma with her prowess while her sister ruled over the people with her knowledge and kindness. But then, her sister died and Ei was thrust into her role while the people of Inazuma didn't even realize it because they were not aware of Ei's existence or the fact that an archon died since it was outside of Inazuma.

Slowly, Ei lost several friends and, in her grief, decided to pursue a version of eternity that basically equalled to state is, an unchanging life that would remain undisturbed by the passage of time. In her mind, this would protect the people of Inazuma from the fate that she suffered. And to prevent herself from being affected by "erosion", she created a puppet bearing her face and sealed her consciousness in her Plane of Euthymia, where she would dwell for five hundred years.

Seeing Visions as a threat to the eternity she had created, a threat to the permanent paradise she believed Inazuma to be, Ei issued the Vision Hunt Decree, and, at some point, even closed Inazuma off from the rest of the world. However, Ei was also unaware of how her decisions were affecting her people and of the civil war Inazuma was going through.

Once she was defeated by the Traveler, her ideas of eternity were challenged for the first time. She finally saw how her decisions affected her people and she realized how she was manipulated into making those decisions through censored reports. Thus, while she didn't give up on creating an eternal paradise for her people, Ei decided to find a different way to pursue those ideals.

Her story quest starts with her struggling to come up with a solution, and the Traveler offers to show her around the city to get her reacquainted with society. This shows Ei exactly how much has changed despite her best efforts, and as she gets to know her people once more, she realizes that change is not something she can stop and that she needs to come up with an eternity that can coexist with the flow of time. Her first story quest is not the dating simulator it's made out to be and it's also not a prequel to the second story quest. It's a continuation of the Inazuma archon quest — whether it should have been another chapter of the archon quest or if it is fine as a story quest is a separate debate.

Ei is a pretty decent character, with more depth than usual for a female character in Genshin Impact, so it baffles me how much of her is misinterpreted in the fandom. I've seen less of this recently, but I can't tell if it's because I stopped venturing into the fandom much or if things have actually changed.

[the-beast-in-love]

My flesh changes.

My dream is to grow to be old and trans with you

When the awkwardness fades away and all that remains is the spiteful but loving satisfaction that we lived past their deadlines

I hope we can learn how to be eachothers affirmation

A holy "you are with me, therefore i am"

It is foolish to live only in your own mind

other people round your edges, interpret your fastenings, noticing the same old cues.

I hope that i continue to live with the same silent whisper

Deep in my chest, unrelenting as it aches

No longer from the creaking of my tired ribs

You make me want to grow into someone good

Not into someone dead

You make me excited for the greys the aches the sagging. The possibility of spending it with you. Making those changes our own.

Sitting on the porch in wooden rocking chairs, you continue to solve puzzles, I carve trinkets with my pocket knife

Im baffled by the passage of time but not because I fear it. every passing day is another question

Another i love you i use to see whats under your skin

Honey show me whats under the grey and i'll show you mine.

Show me we'll still love when our flaws become who we are.

- Jules Moreno (2023)

[terrence-silver]

Okay, but imagine, through some weird contrived AU, Twig works as a Bus-boy with John at the diner? Perhaps, ironically, post-war, where jobs are fairly scarce in a mangled economy (especially for returning veterans looked down on), and for a short period of time, before the first Cobra Kai dojo actually kicks off, John returns to a previous work-place with a new found sense of authority and confidence because he needs quick cash and while he does dream, he understands he can’t just live off of dreams alone? Like, maybe its one of the several trials and tribulations Terry’s father has him go through to ‘become a real man’ and this month, it involves working a job (a job that isn’t the hereditary, multigenerational family business) --- why not have it be a job his wartime compatriot dabbles in as well? Sure. That’ll do. Yes. That is trusty and tolerable enough --- serve a purpose for the time being and it proves a point. Will help the boy integrate back into society and leave this whole war nonsense behind, because that’s over and Silver Sr. deems it is a closed chapter, so of course, being the utmost authority on everything, it is indeed a closed chapter because he merely says so. Naturally, Terry clowns around a bit because he still has some of that playful, youthful innocence to him after everything he’s been through. Reminds of that one post from Reddit (right here) where a guy chased around customers at McDonalds with a wet mop telling them ‘I’m gonna getcha’ and getting himself fired on the spot at age sixteen for it. A n y w a y. Terry’s silly antics lead to him nearly getting let go as well and his exceedingly rich papa phones in to the owner to fix the issue, nepotism be damned. -”He’s going through a rite of passage.”-

Is all he says after his very formal introductions are made.

-”Oh, sorry, sir, we didn’t know, we...”- The stuttering manager had no idea.

Well, no idea who’s son this skinny little dummie was exactly, to be precise.

Old money? Man...

-”He just came home from Vietnam. Now it is time to get to know the ants.”-

He came home from where!? That kid? Sure, he believed that about the other one, but...

-”The...ants, sir?”-

-”The ants. The proletarian working class. You.”-

-”Oh...”-

Okay? Blunt and harsh. No beating around the bush.

It isn’t a threat or mockery. The tone is very matter of factually.

This is simply how Mr. Silver the Older speaks.

-”To best know thyne enemy you must learn the enemy’s ways or whatever mumbo jumbo Confucius wrote. I don’t read that crap. Gives me a migraine and when I get migraines, my physician’s prescribed skiing. I hate that crap too. Ever been to Aspen during wintertime? I can have that arranged for you.”- Is this man trying to...bribe him? Mr. Silver Sr. audibly yawns into the phone, not even trying to hide how bored he is by this conversation. -”Don’t take it personally, uh...Winnie, or whatever your name is. He’s the first one in the family with a...outside employment.”- Silver Sr. continues and goodness only knows how he got a hold the manager’s name. Why’s the man speaking with a...is that a thick Transatlantic accent? What’s outside employment? Like...ordinary work? The year is 1974 and it is like this guy crawled out somewhere from the other half of the century. He sounds like how a black and white movie ought to sound. Like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Either ways, it is the most baffling conversation the proprietor of this establishment had...ever to the point of feeling made up and it particularly haunts him in the time to come, and he’s been instructed to simply let Terry observe the work environment of the diner (like one does a zoo cage from the outside) and learn a thing or two, before his time and tenure is up and his father welcomes him into the family business with some manner of understanding of what a work ethic is for ‘the other side of the class scale’. The kid simply disappears, never to be seen again. The manager spots his name, years later, on the cover of Forbes. The gruff, bigger guy disappears too soon after.

Suffice to say, Terry Silver sticks around for some two months.

John Kreese is given a raise disguised as ‘a work bonus’.

Mr. Silver Sr. knows ‘the proud one’ wont accept it otherwise.

Those are the few oddest weeks in that diner’s overall running history.

[gilbertdickson62]

What sort of Masonry Should I actually Use for The Home?

According to most builders, masonry in general is actually a durable building product that requires really little maintenance; that will is why this is widespread regarding both residential in addition to commercial construction tasks. Individuals who are usually opting for having some sort of home built with this particular material should recognize that this has distinct types, and selecting the right one is an essential element to the cost of the project as well as the longevity of the structure. What is it? Originally, the term masonry basically designed any building structure using rocks and stones. Traditional properties built by earlier settlers were built using naturally happening material including rubble and stones and even was basically the perfect description of the craft. The workers who mastered this process of construction will be known as masons. By far the most popular use of this setting up medium could be the pyramids in Egypt. Actually today, experts will be baffled as to be able to the way the Egyptians have been able to construct such structures together with perfect dimension and even proportion using only manual labor. https://construction.com of craft is still widely practiced and even as modern structure material such while Portland and concrete blocks have recently been developed, its information has also enhanced. Different Types There are many diverse kinds of masonry within existence. Following will be a few examples of this developing art. Stone -- Stone masonry is usually probably the most well-known type in existence. The particular pyramids in Egypt are perfect illustrations. The pieces of which compose the pyramids are known as 'dressed stones'. This kind of means that every single piece is reduce into uniform bigger pieces. Although 'undressed stones' which are irregularly shaped might also be used, this means that each piece offers to be singularly arranged and aligned to form the particular structure. Brick - In the 1960's, large rock had become one involving the most well-known types masonry ever before made. They may be nonetheless a staple substance on buildings many of these as schools and even fire station. Large rock is made coming from molded and hard clay. Whilst it can get brittle as time passes and has the high water consumption rate, in addition, it offers high insulation capability making it an excellent construction material especially for places in frigid climates. Concrete Wedge - Concrete obstructions have overcome the particular immense popularity associated with brick. A tangible block has holes which serve as passages for steel rebar and solid. Due to the design, concrete obstructions have a very structural edge over other brickwork making it an extremely popular choice. Rewards There are numerous benefits for the work with of masonry being a building tool; a number of them are listed below. Flames Protection - Brickwork and stonework offer reliable fire defense since the supplies utilized to make all of them is fire-resistant. Places of residence built using these kinds of methods are much less susceptible to catching about fire.

Durable : When compared to other structure material such since wood or material, masonry contains a much longer life expectancy. Concrete can last upward to 100 years and even still retain their durability. Because that is incredibly solid, it can also easily survive normal disasters like hurricanes, tornados and earthquakes and provide reliable security to its occupants. Low Maintenance -- Masonry requires extremely little to simply no maintenance in any way. Once the structure is built, it will continue to be standing regardless associated with whether it is maintained or not necessarily. Its only difficulty is when developed on a soft foundation, it might tend settle and even develop cracks. Appropriate building techniques could avoid this type of difficulty. In general, brickwork is a tough construction method and even is a possible choice. Finding the appropriate form to work with all boils down to the amount durability is necessary in the structure plus the kind of look that the recorded wants to attain. Hopefully, this post has provided helpful information regarding the distinct classifications of brickwork and how to select the particular best one to always be used for each particular appearance!

[yhwhrulz]

Wayside Chapel Daily Devotional 27th March 2024

3/27 Numbers 35:33

33 You shall not pollute the land in which you live, for blood pollutes the land, and no atonement can be made for the land for the blood that is shed in it, except by the blood of the one who shed it.

The tribe of Levi was given cities to dwell in within the other tribes. These cities were called cities of refuge. If someone accidentally killed a person, he or she could flee to one of these cities and be protected from anyone seeking to avenge the death. Jesus told us that if we hate our brother we are guilty of murder in our heart. Jesus is our city of refuge where our heart can be changed.

There is another lesson to be found in this passage. Pollution is a big topic today. It is only common sense that we should care for our environment. But what baffles me is that the more vociferous about pollution people become, the more trash I see along the roadways. It is the "everyone-but-me" syndrome.

The real pollution of a land is the shedding of innocent blood. We have more shedding of truly innocent blood in our abortion centers than at any time in history, and this is happening worldwide. We are polluting the entire planet. Those who shed innocent blood include all those involved, from the parents to the doctor to the lawmakers and voters that allow it to continue. This is one reason that I believe we are in the Last Days. If God drove the Canaanites from their land because of this, and threatened to do the same to Israel if they shed innocent blood, what should we expect from the hand of God?

There is little to no fear of God today. However, God has not changed. Armageddon will come. In the words of the Apostle Paul, "Because of these, the wrath of God is coming" (Colossians 3:6).

Consider: If I believe the judgments of God are coming upon the earth, how should I live today?