#voyage of the ruthless

[lunanightriderofthecove]

Callum's smirk and eyeroll when Rayla threatens to kill him if he dies in the storm? 😍

[0vergrowngraveyard]

city boy cant understand a damn thing his pirate brother is saying

[bumblingbabooshka]

Janeway in 'Nothing Human' vs Tuvok in 'Resolutions' There's something here I know there is I can almost wrap my teeth around it.

[wheretwofacesmeet]

[remholder]

wow my adhd is rampant today

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWO

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, 141 are mean pirates, brief mentions of gore/death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The time you spent in the brig was frigid and isolating. Despite it being summer, the cold gusts of the sea had crept in through the thin cracks of the wooden ship, rising goosebumps on your skin and sending shivers wracking through your body. You were in no attire to accommodate the chill, only dressed in your barest of summer garments, thin and dirtied from the poverty your village lived in.

Silence became your new friend, while also your enemy. As much as you were one to appreciate the quiet of the world, the waves crashing along the sides of the ship were far too loud, taunting you with a grim reminder that you were lost at sea with no home to return to.

Your home was burned down to ash, surely with no survivors, given the state of havoc you’d returned to when Ghost told you to fetch your things. Your home didn’t treat you kindly, but it was still the place you’d grown up in and planned on dying peacefully. Now, you were a prisoner to pirates, ones only told about in silly fairy tales.

The stories of pirates had scared you when you were a young child. The elders had grouped together all children on summer nights such as this one, feeding them useless fables of the dangerous men and women that ruled the seas. They were ruthless, showing no remorse for the ones they tormented, uncaring of the bloodshed they splattered along native lands of the innocent.

That’s all they were when you were a child. Stories. Only meant to keep the youth away from the seas as not to witness them fall in and succumb to a painful death of drowning.

Now, though, it was your cruel reality. A nightmare. The pirates from those tales had been plucked straight out of the book and planted right into your life, erupting it into living hell.

Nobody had come to check on you after Ghost left you locked up in the cell. It had been hours since, the only telltale sign being the peek of sunlight poking through the small brig window and illuminating the room enough to shower you in a faint glow. There was nothing but a cot in the cell, the lower deck bare of anything useful.

Your escape would be fruitless. You’d thought about squeezing through the tiny window, but even if you managed, where would that leave you? Captured in the waves of the sea until you’d sink to the bottom in exhaustion.

You had to play it smart. Staying awake for hours alone had left you with plenty of rapid thoughts, some irrational. The best thing you’d decided in the end was to play along, gain their trust, and fulfill your role. As much as a part of you wished you were dead, it would be betraying your village, betraying Mary.

They needed to be caught. These pirates needed to pay for their crimes.

Gain their trust. Get off of the ship. Inform the nearest guard station.

When daylight fully broke, the sound of a creaky door caught your attention. More sunlight poured through the open doorway from the top of the stairs, showcasing one of the pirates. This time, it wasn’t Ghost, but instead, the one who had tossed you over their shoulder like a weak sack of potatoes.

Gaz said nothing as he descended down the stairs. In his hand was a steaming bowl, swirling around him like an ominous mist. His eyes locked on to yours, hardened from years of thievery and slaughter. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in them, nor indication that he was anything besides a sailing machine designed to follow Captain’s orders.

You watched keenly as he approached your cell. He stood over you like a brewing storm cloud, shadowing you from the stretch of light behind him.

For a moment, the two of you sat there frozen. You, terrified and cautious. Him, off putting and brooding.

Breaking the tension, his free hand scrambled for the keys latched on to the loops on his trousers, inserting one of the keys into the lock. He paused, eyeing you as a warning not to pull a brainless move. When he was satisfied you wouldn’t dare, he tugged the cell door open before stepping inside.

“Here,” he muttered, crouching down to place the bowl of food in front of you. Upon further inspection, you realized it was porridge. Bland and colorless.

You had no appetite after the horrors you’d seen. The sight of food had your stomach twisting, filling with rotten bile that begged to escape you and paint the floor beneath you.

Brimming with rage and seethe, you did the first thing that came to mind. Your hands picked up the bowl, carefully guiding it up to your mouth in attempts to seem starved. Gaz watched carefully, face set in firm lines that bristled a resentful itch inside of you.

With a turn of your hands, you tossed the porridge directly at Gaz, coating him in the piping liquid, chunks of vegetable that had been carelessly tossed in for flavor slipping down his front. His shirt and trousers were drenched, staining with the lifeless meal.

His face morphed into one of surprise before quickly shifting course. Instead, he was angry, eyebrows pulling taut, scowl curling on his lips. His eyes darkened impossibly more, filling the warm pupils with a menacing black.

“You fuckin’ wench,” he hissed, standing from his crouch to angrily swipe at the food that littered his clothing. It fell to the floor in a mushy mess right in front of you. Due to his aggression, a few stray chunks splattered back on to you in retaliation.

Realizing what you’d done, you tensed up, shuffling back from your place on the floor until your back hit the splintering walls of the ship. Gaz let out a roaring groan in irritation, sending a daggering glare your way.

“You are not hungry?” he asked tauntingly. He stepped out of the cell, slamming the door shut and locking it up tight. “Starve then. You will learn soon enough.”

Watching with widened eyes, he left the brig, grumbling angry curses to himself. When he shut the doors of your escape, you were met with sickening silence once again. The sound of waves taunted you, whispering insults in your ears for being such a stupid girl.

The pact you’d made with yourself was already in ruin. Befriending the pirates would be a difficult task if you couldn’t swallow down your enmity, and now you’d gone and made a foe.

Nobody returned to your cell for the rest of the day. It was punishment, that much you could figure out. Your stomach grumbled with desperate pleas, yet you could do nothing but wallow in your own acrimony for the remainder of the night.

When morning rose, you were awakened by the sound of the door once again. The light was blinding as it invaded the room, temporarily blocking your view of the person who’d stepped inside. When your eyes adjusted, you were faced with another pirate, the one who had held Mary down while you pleaded with him to release her.

Gaz stood beside him, arms crossed to appear larger. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tease of resentment fluttering in his eyes.

“Not goin’ to toss yer breakfast on me, are ye?” the other snickered, eliciting a glare from Gaz. The pirate stepped forward, unlocking your cell and slipping inside. This time, he held the stale porridge while Gaz remained a pace behind him. “I know yer starvin’, so don’t be a prude. Eat up, aye?”

He set the bowl in front of you, just as Gaz had done. Remaining crouched in front of you, he made a gesture of his head towards the steaming meal, a toothy grin on his face.

You knew better than to feel relieved at the kindness. He was a pirate, just as the others, and he was cruel and unruly. Though, thinking back on your plan, his youthfulness may be a much easier one to befriend.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly with a respectful bow of your head. You reached for the bowl, gathering it in both hands. Gaz and the other studied you, seemingly waiting for a repeat of dirty laundry. It never came, though, and you lifted the wood spoon to your lips, swallowing down the first bite.

Just as you thought, it was bitter. How one could even make porridge bitter, you were unsure, but your stomach made no protest to the grainy oats. In fact, it was rather appealing, having been starved for two days.

“Take it ye like it, then?” the one pirate hummed, cocking his head at the display. “Get used to it, birdie. It’ll be yer meal for majority of yer time here.” He shot you another grin, resembling a mangy cat.

The reminder of your permanent stay was a difficult one, but your plan played over in your head. You wanted to go home, though it was no more, and you wanted your freedom back. Neither would be possible if you didn’t show kindness in return.

“What’s your name?” you questioned, making a poor attempt at conversation.

“Soap,” he introduced proudly. You didn’t mean to, but the name made you snort, triggering a light cough from the porridge you’d been in the middle of swallowing down.

“Soap is an… interesting name,” you grimaced. Soap didn’t seem to mind the back-handedness, only keeping that signature grin that was beginning to grow a bit hard on the eyes.

“Aye, got the name from bein’ a bit too rowdy. Price wanted to wash my mouth out.” His own words had him cackling, loud and boisterous in the cramped brig. Gaz had no reaction, opting for the hardened look that was practically piercing into you like thousands of knives. “What’s yer name, birdie? Got to learn who our new medic is.”

You wanted to remind him that you weren’t a medic. Not a professional one, anyway. You knew the bare minimum of proper medical etiquette and your medicines Ghost had told you to bring with were simply experimental mixtures. But you also knew that he wouldn’t listen nor care.

“The village called me dove,” you explained, swallowing down more porridge. It was warm in your mouth, coating your throat with gooey goodness. “Though, I don’t think it was much out of kindness.”

Soap hummed in acknowledgement, shooting a lopsided smile and a nod of his head. “Not quite a pirate name, dove, but it’ll do.”

“I’m not a pirate,” you defended with a frown.

“Ye are now,” he reckoned mindlessly, shrugging a lazy shoulder. Soap stood from his position, straightening up next to Gaz. “I’ll give ye some advice to be a part of this crew, dove. It’s not nice to throw porridge at a poor lad like Gaz.” Soap clapped Gaz on his shoulder, earning a scowl, which he ignored.

Your eyes shifted from Soap to Gaz, taking in the pure annoyance radiating off of him in waves. It was undeniable, practically filling the room’s atmosphere with black mist.

“I apologize,” you forced out, though that bitter part of you denied it. You wouldn’t feel sorry for these pirates. After all, they didn’t feel bad for the innocent lives they ruined.

Gaz’s nose twitched at your faux remorse, staring at you for a beat too long before turning away. He made no move to talk to you, but it wasn’t a blatant refusal of your apology. Perhaps he was just a tough nut to crack with a soft sweetness on the inside, even for a pirate.

The two men left you alone in the brig once again, only returning to give you meals as needed. It was terribly lonely the more the weeks went on with no move to release you from your cell. It was as if none of them trusted you, despite them being the ones to kidnap you. They burned down your home, slaughtered your people, and yet, wouldn’t allow you a chance to taste a sliver of freedom.

It was agonizing to wait, but you kept up your facade as much as you could, dripping with poisoned honey every time Gaz or Soap entered the brig with means to feed you.

Price or Ghost hadn’t made an entrance to see you. For the most part, you were grateful for it. In just the couple of weeks Soap and Gaz had been feeding you, they were warming up to you, slow and steady — Soap more than the other.

Gaz still had his reservations about you. He was reclusive, always standing on guard as if the shadows in the wall were prepared to attack at any given moment. It was better than before, where he had treated you like a burdening dog who he couldn’t rid himself of, but the progress was dwindling.

Soap was much more gracious. While he was obnoxious, he was much more welcoming company. You had no desire to truly befriend these pirates, but if any were to be the most tolerable, it was Soap.

Price and Ghost, though, were a mystery. Their absence made crucial falters in your meticulous plotting. You wanted out of the cell so you may roam the creaky decks of the ship, but the dream simply wouldn’t be possible without their trust.

It wasn’t until the fourth week of your imprisonment that the storyline had shifted. Rather than Soap bringing you your meal for the night, it was the Captain himself, standing tall and brute in front of your barred enclosure.

Unease rattled through your bones at his sudden appearance. You weren’t expecting him, nor were you prepared to face the very man who had slain your village with the help of his men.

He observed you like a lab rat, studying every movement like a variable in his experiment. It was prodding and exposing, leaving you sitting in your cell with a heavy lump in your throat.

“Soap tells me you’re warmin’ up to him,” he claimed, breaking the thick silence that smothered the air. He paced back and forth in front of your cell, eyes focused in on you. “Figured I’d properly introduce myself, seein’ as we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together.”

You swallowed the rock in your throat, unmoving from your position on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but the cot was worn and dirty, so the floor became your only friend in the midst of all your dispair.

“I see,” you managed, clearing your throat. Price continued his relentless pacing, hands crossed behind his back in a formal manner. Ironic, really, considering his ruthless occupation.

“Dove, was it?” he asked. You nodded wearily. “A shame, really. Doves are lovely things, beautiful creatures made up of the purest white. Yet your village had called you it in ridicule. Or so I heard.”

Price was a man that spoke in riddles. He spouted conversation in the form of poetry, only tainting its beauty when angered. It was both unnerving and intriguing for a pirate. He wasn’t dirtied like you’d heard in childhood tales.

“I suppose they did,” you agreed with a small frown. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew, triggering alarm bells telling you that this man was an enigma. He wasn’t to be trusted.

“And why is that?” Price questioned. He ceased his pacing to face you properly, and you wished he’d return to it. His stature was that of a behemoth, overpowering and menacing, much like Ghost had been.

“Why did they call me dove?” you responded in confusion.

“Why did they ridicule you,” he corrected.

The statement made you pause. You hadn’t really thought about your townspeople dumbing you down to a mere crazy girl with too much ambition. You were the talk of the village within your age group as well as the occasional elder who tsked at you for never marrying.

The relationship between you and your people was one of complexity. While you loved them as your own, they battered you every chance they had. Hell, even Lucius himself had outed you to a group of pirates without care in the world. The very man who had spent countless months in attempts to make you a pretty village wife had sent you to your early grave to save his own ass.

“They thought I was different,” you explained woefully. “It is not normal for a woman to partake in medicine, let alone education. Doves are beautiful, yes, but they’re also adventurous. It is a dangerous conviction to be compared to as a woman.”

Price cocked his head to the side, filling the air with silence. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to explain yourself to a dingy villain such as him, but you feared that if you weren’t honest in your conversation, he’d be able to sniff out your deception from miles away.

“Who has told you it is not normal?” Price asked, and once again, he had stumped you.

“It is not a difficult thing to digest, Captain. Women do not involve themselves in ambition.”

“They quite do,” he retorted. You stared up at him through the bars, your own head cocking. You didn’t trust his word, but a shriveled piece of you was curious. “Sure, it is not acceptable in certain places, but it is quite popular.”

You blinked at him, before staring at the wooden floor, pondering.

You had been expecting the Captain to treat you with hostility, to throw nasty words your way with the excuse of being a pirate. That was what you had been told in adolescence, how dirty they could be, but he was calm.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Price said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bars of your cell, standing over you with only that barrier separating you. “I am not a cruel man. You may think differently, and for that, I do not care. But I will say that I believe you will have a much better life upon my ship.”

His words were a mix of sweet venom being spat at you. While they could be perceived as kind, there was an underlying message, one you couldn’t decipher.

“You burned down my village and killed my people. You kidnapped me to be your medic on your ship,” you defended, unable to hold back the taste of lingering resentment.

You had nearly forgotten why you were there with Soap and Gaz visiting to shift your mind elsewhere. You almost dismissed your own plan of escape. Price had reminded you without realizing, and now, your heart felt heavy once again.

“Ah, yes. The people that willingly sacrificed their own in effort to save themselves,” Price mused mockingly. The words stung. “Yes, we took you against your will. I will admit that. But your people treated you far worse.”

“You do not know a thing, Captain,” you spat.

Price cocked his head once more, resting his forehead on the forearms that lay upon your cell. “Aye, I do not,” he admitted. “But I know a bird with clipped wings when I see one. Perhaps you’ll be grateful when you learn to accept things as they are.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to get the last word in, but he was right. You barely knew the Captain and yet, he had read you like a novel, flipping through your pages and memorizing them from one single look through.

It felt dehumanizing. He was cruel and vicious, as were his men. They were nowhere near saviors, yet he spoke to you as if he was. It sickened you to the core, but there was no denying his brutal honesty.

Price offered you a lazy smile before standing straight, arms falling to his sides. “I suggest gettin’ used to your new life. You’ve got no home to return to anyway.”

He retreated from your cell as if he hadn’t slapped you in the face with a dose of reality. His boots were heavy and aggravating as they trudged up the stairs towards the upper deck, where he promptly shut the door on you, leaving you alone once again.

Your escape plan was falling into shambles before it had even began to fester. 

[brightatmidnight]

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[ghcstao3]

siren ghost and sailor soap?

sort of inspired by the pirates of the caribbean sirens scene because it’s one of my favourite things of that series. also i got a little carried away

-

Over the many, many years of traversing the Seven Seas for his life’s work, Soap has become intimately familiar with the abundant myths and legends about the ocean and what lies beneath.

Of course, most of these hold no truth. Most of these are only mere stories to quell the anxieties of sailors, or to provide reasoning to strange occurrences seemingly otherwise unexplainable.

Sirens are, unfortunately, the exception.

Ruthless, ravenous creatures—they’re the worst fear of any sailor who knows the worth of his own life, and like most things that make mortal men afraid, they’ve been transformed into weapons.

Soap only knows that sirens are real because of what happens to many prisoners at sea—from the brig they’re moved to rowboats without paddles, abandoned and forced to sing until the sirens appear to lure them into the water, where flesh would be torn from bone with razor sharp teeth.

It’s a terrifying sight. The creatures are like sharks called to blood with the way they appear, like piranhas with the way they feast.

It’s horrifying. Fascinating. And Soap has vowed to never let himself end up on one of those boats.

But alas. Fate has other plans for him.

Soap had been reluctant to join the crew of Captain Philip Graves when presented with the opportunity, but the pay promised had been good, the work simple, and the destination somewhere he’s never been.

But what Soap hadn’t realized is that Graves likes to take prisoners. He likes to engage in unfair combat with other ships, and operates almost like a pirate, though not explicitly enough to be considered one himself.

Soap realizes his mistake far too late when he wanders down to the brig one night, otherwise unable to sleep. They’re two weeks into their voyage by now, and Soap knows there’s people in the jail—but he hadn’t known the state of them.

Most already without a secure amount of food outside their makeshift cell, they’re emaciated, wasting away in the hull of the vessel. They’re barely responsive when Soap knocks on the bars of the hold and pokes someone’s damp shoulder. Someone weakly latches onto Soap’s sleeve and begs for nothing in particular, and he feels awful for not having known about this sooner.

So he begins sneaking them food, brings them drink. Squirrels away what extra he can without anyone noticing he’s stopped finishing his meals.

Except someone must notice. Because, nearing the end of their journey, Graves is waking him in the dead of night and pulling him into the Captain’s quarters.

Soap swallows the pounding heartbeat in his throat as Graves slowly crosses the room to take a seat at his desk. He’s never liked the man, not one bit—but this just feels unnecessary. Taunting.

“A little bird tells me you’ve been keeping our prisoners fed,” Graves drawls. “Even though, from what I recall, prisoners are the enemy. I don’t suppose you really have been helping them out, have you, MacTavish?”

It’s a trap, Soap knows. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to tell Graves’s question isn’t really a question at all. Graves has his answer, and waits on Soap’s response if only to entertain him with the idea of escape.

Soap knows just as well that there’s hardly a point in trying to lie.

He lifts his chin as he looks straight into Graves’s eyes to tell him, “I have been. They’re still people.”

Graves chuckles lowly, rising from his seat. He rounds the desk, sitting back on its edge with his arms folded across his chest.

It might be intimidating, if Soap were anyone else. If he were a lesser man.

“Well, then—since you like ‘em so much,” Graves says, “surely you won’t mind joining them.”

Soap supplies Graves with no visible reaction. He doesn’t fight as Graves calls for his men to throw Soap in the brig, doesn’t put up any fuss as they try to cajole him.

If Soap has to be imprisoned for doing what’s right, then he at least won’t let Graves have the satisfaction of knowing Soap’s internal panic.

Because Soap knows what Graves plans to do with his prisoners. He’s known all along.

He predicts they’re maybe a day from port when they’re shoved off the ship and ordered into the decaying rowboat, left to drift away—not too far, however, as they’re still tethered to the ship. Because once all prisoners have been drowned, the boat will be reeled back and used again the next time Graves and his crew venture out to terrorize the waters.

No one has the energy to sing, to lure their cruel punishment to them. Soap’s half-convinced some of the others might just jump into the water on their own.

But they have to sing. Especially when a bullet ricochets off the boat and splinters the wood as encouragement.

Despite his time spent out at sea, Soap isn’t overly familiar with many shanties. He just follows along with whatever is mumbled in a weak tune, dreading as the volume builds with a second bullet, and the water below begins to churn. Glancing over the edge, Soap swears he sees the flash of a tail.

The first one appears shortly, singing along to the song like she’s entirely familiar with the melody. Soap feels the pull, though perhaps not as strongly as he imagined he would, if ever he ended up in these circumstances.

He wonders, briefly and distantly, if it has to do with the fact that he’s not really all that into women.

Soap snorts. Wouldn’t that be something.

But as more sirens appear, the pull grows stronger. Soap begins to feel swayed by the song, gone from muttered and off-kilter to something beautiful, hypnotic. The boat bobs with the weight of their new company and the prisoners that rush to the sides to get a better look at the sirens as if they aren’t the dangerous creatures they’re known to be.

Still, though, Soap isn’t completely compelled to join them in the water. He stays put in the centre and grounds his teeth—though he does gasp and reach out when the first prisoner is pulled under, and red soon blossoms across the surface of the water.

Then he appears.

The whole world seems to disappear for just a moment, when Soap looks into big, brown eyes.

The siren’s voice is deeper than the rest, soothing, and though Soap’s hindbrain screams at him that hidden behind the enchanting exterior, the porcelain skin and the straw-blond hair, there lives evil—he can’t help but lean in.

As Soap gets closer, the boat continuing to rock as more prisoners fall victim, the siren’s singing pauses just long enough for him to offer Soap a smile, saccharine, close-lipped. He reaches out an arm to Soap, calloused fingers caressing Soap’s cheek, cupping his jaw.

Soap can’t help but melt into the touch, its simultaneous warmth and coolness, subconsciously chasing it as it retracts, eyes fluttering shut with a short, pleased sigh.

But with the singing fading from the others, Soap’s eyes suddenly snap open. The siren still holds him, still leads Soap with that gentle touch and deceptively kind gaze, but Soap resists. He doesn’t know when he’d gotten to leaning halfway over the edge of the boat, but he scrambles backward to the opposite side, as far as he can get from this siren.

Soap comes to the startling realization that he’s the only one left.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” the siren croons. He props himself up on the edge of the boat, arms thick with corded muscle to show the real power of this creature. He leans forward, the boat tilting with his added weight. “I don’t bite.”

Soap glances nervously about the empty rowboat, gaze accidentally straying the bloodstained waters that surround them.

“I beg to differ,” Soap says weakly.

The siren laughs softly before slowly sinking back into the water. The boat sways. Soap shakes.

Everything goes silent for a suspiciously long moment before there’s a disturbance in the water and the siren appears at the side of the boat where Soap has taken refuge. He’s singing quietly again and Soap feels that pull, so he moves away, screws his eyes shut, and jams his fingers in his ears in an attempt to block it out.

It doesn’t work, not when the singing gets louder, and Soap’s attempt is rendered useless.

“Shut up,” Soap growls. “Please just shut. Up.”

The singing does cease, though only to make way for a deep, full laughter that is somehow tugging on Soap’s conscience with more force than any melody so far.

When Soap blinks his eyes open, the siren is perched on the edge of the boat, arms splayed one on top of the other, his head resting over them. He’s smiling, even once his laughter has died down, a glint of something in his dark eyes—maybe not quite sinister, but certainly mischievous.

“They’re not letting you back on that ship, you know,” the siren says, as if it isn’t obvious. “So you can either come with me—“

“And what? Be drowned? Eaten?” Soap snaps. “Thanks, but I’d rather rot right here.”

“Suit yourself,” the siren hums.

To Soap’s surprise, he actually disappears back into the water. And despite the waves—the ocean seems to have finally calmed.

Maybe Soap did have the tiny, illogical hope that he’d be brought back to the ship. Maybe Soap did have the tiny, logical hope that this siren would just put him out of his misery.

Either way, now he just sits in silence, listening to waves lap up against the hull as the rowboat rocks lazily with the current. Though the peace surely only stretches on for a few minutes, it feels like hours.

Stupidly, Soap goes to inspect the depths. To make certain he’s really been left alone.

Because that’s when he’s pulled in.

Soap barely has time to yell out before his mouth is filled with the overwhelming, stinging taste of salt, unfamiliar arms wrapping securely around his frame so he can’t wriggle free. His shouts are muffled by the water, and he feels the cold soak into his bones as he’s dragged deeper and deeper. The light fades, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.

The last thing Soap sees is the siren’s grin, all fangs and malice before everything goes black.

But then, after an unknown amount of time—Soap wakes up to the slow drip, drip, drip of water on a stone floor.

He’s in a cave.

He’s in a cave, and there’s a light source somewhere, and the siren is watching him.

Soap coughs, clearing water from his lungs. He chokes out, “Why… what did you—“

The siren shrugs. “I don’t eat people I like.”

Soap frowns, still coughing. “You…”

“Call me Ghost,” the siren says, then dives into the pool he’d been wading in at the entrance of the cave, and swims away—long, elegant tail flicking behind him as he leaves.

And while many, many thought swirl around Soap’s head as he gradually gathers his bearings about the situation, the clearest of them all is also the simplest; what the hell kind of a name is Ghost?

If only he could guess.

And if only he could know what’s meant to happen to him next.

[barrel-crow-n]

What if Kaz joined Sturmhond's crew

Listen, hear me out.

Kaz is bored as fuck in Rule of Wolves. That's so obvious. He built an underground tunnel under half the city, he expanded Dregs territory, he bought a new gambling parlour, he upgraded the Crow Club. He steals things for fun. But it's getting so boring.

"What are you without your vengance" "What will you do when there are no more scores to settle?" Kaz's whole life has been about revenge, and now that Pekka is gone, he doesn't know what to do with himself. This was made clear in both show and book (the quotes above) when the Jordie hallucination and Inej both ask him what he will do when there's no more revenge to exact. He never really thought about it but now his revenge is done. It's completed. Early. Kaz mentions how he was going to use his haul to start a new gang and destroy Pekka, but he clearly never thought it would be so soon. Now, he doesn't know what to do. He's rich. He's the king of the Barrel. He's got his gang. There is nothing left to do.

There's nothing in Ketterdam left to occupy him. He wants to be the king of it, and he loves the city, but he's bored out of his skull. So he goes on a voyage. He leaves his lieutenant in charge, and his gang have orders to continue terrorising the Barrel whilst he's gone, but Kaz personally slips away onto the sea. With Nikolai.

I chose Nikolai and not Inej because of how similar Kaz and Nikolai are. Nikolai slips away from his kingly duties, Kaz from his. Nikolai has an unquiet mind, so does Kaz. They both love to put on a show and a disguise and Nikolai's reputation on the sea is pretty ruthless. He fed a guy's fingers to a dog. Kaz would love that. Also when Inej finds out he went on the sea but on a ship that isn't hers it'll be funny. Do you see my vision?

[ur-fav-local-slut]

Aphrodisiac sex with Kazuha

Cw: Sex under the influence, fem reader, penetration

You were happy to be staying in liyue for a little while with Kazuha. As much as you adored the life of adventure working for Beidou brought you, relaxing in liyue harbor after a long voyage at sea would never get old to you. And now Kazuha was here to share this relaxing time with you. You and he had gone shopping in the market that day to prepare for dinner. You had run into beidou while Kazuha was looking at fresh vegetables. She had given you what you thought were Sumerian spices. Although she had winked at you while handing them over and had said “make sure to show Kazuha a good time”. You wouldn’t normally consider yourself oblivious but this was definitely not one of your best moments. When you met back up with Kazuha, you both continued to shop and then headed home.

He rubbed your clit harshly causing waves of pleasure to roll through you body. Kazuha’s thrusts lost their rhythm and he spilled his cum into your walls. But he didn’t stop. His dick was still impossibly hard and his thrust became ruthless again. His cock throbbed as you rolled your hips involuntarily.

When you made dinner you used a lot of the spices, to ‘show Kazuha a good time’ although you still didn’t understand the real meaning of Beidou’s words. When you served the meal Kazuha gratefully ate all of it while you felt odd and only ate about half your portion. After dinner when you both were relaxing with cups of tea, Kazuha began to fidget and his face turned red. You leaned over and placed a hand on his forehead to check for a fever. Kazuha placed his head on your shoulder and used one hand to hold your hair while he smelled it.

“K-Kazuha! what are you doing?” He pulled your body closer to him and you felt his bulge on your stomach. He frees himself of his clothes and leaves small bites and hickeys on your neck. He flipped up your skirt and rubbed your count through your panties. You were wetter than you thought you would be, the ‘spices’ Beidou had given you had worked on you aswell.

Kazuha pulls down your panties and taps his length on your cunt. His face was flushed red and a few drops of sweat pleasingly rolled down his lean muscles. You squeezed your thighs together but his hands were faster. He was stronger than you by a lot. He pressed his weight onto the inside of your thighs, forcing them open.

“Just relax.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. Kazuha lined his dick up with your entrance and moved his hands from your thighs to your hips while he thrust his entire length into you in one movement. You pushed your hips forward, leaving your ass flush with his hips. He began thrusting at a brutal pace, desperation and lust swirling about his clouded mind.

After many orgasms from both of you, Kazuha collapsed onto you and on further examination, he had fallen asleep. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you really enjoyed the night. You fell asleep soon after Kazuha.

[lunanightriderofthecove]

When Rayla says "this is just my rare glowtoad impersonation" Bait copies her afterwards 🤣

[skywerse]

Finch finally got a redesign that suits her more... With that, if you want to know more about my riptide oc, info below! :D

WARNING: there's A LOT of yapping

Finch, originally named Farren Van Aalsburg, stands as a 24-year-old pirate whose legacy is intertwined with the notorious ship, The Arbiter. 

Known for her ruthless and calculated leadership, Finch's mere approach to piracy would send ripples of apprehension through the ranks of sailors and even unsettle the most seasoned navy officers. The very mention of her crew's arrival was often met with foreboding whispers. In taverns, pirates would share knowing smirks over their mugs of beer, while officers would exchange wary glances. They'd caution one another, 

"Retribution's coming."

Farren's lineage traces back to a well-known navy captain, Heimer Van Aalsburg, praised for his adeptness in handling internal conflicts and hailed as one of the foremost strategists in naval warfare. Alongside his family, composed of Farren, her stepsister Hestia, and stepmother Alisei, they resided aboard a wonderful mahogany vessel, embarking on voyages from one port to another.

For Heimer, Farren was the centre of his universe, he couldn't have wished for a better daughter. Their connection strengthened, particularly in the wake of Farren's mother, Julith Ferin's passing when Farren was just four years old.

The bond between Farren and her younger sister was equally profound, they had an unbreakable bond from the very moment they met. However, amidst this familial setting, Alisei nursed a vicious, festering resentment, convinced that Farren overshadowed Hestia in Heimer's eyes. This animosity later culminated in a tragic incident that took place one, stormy night. 

In an unfortunate turn of events, Farren finds herself overboard, her desperate attempt to grasp the ship resulting in a severe injury to her right arm. Eventually, the raging waters below are quick to swallow her.

As her consciousness returns, she kneels before a colossal leviathan. The creature presents a solemn pact: it will guide her to the nearest vessel and mend her injured arm, with the condition that she accepts the burden of becoming the guardian of the seas until her last dying breath. An oath that binds her to a life on the move, forbidding her to settle on solid ground or abandon her duty. With hesitation, she agrees.

One fateful day, Skip, a hardy half-orc fisherman, discovers a young girl ensnared in his ship's nets. Swift to lend a helping hand, he extends not only a refuge but a genuine home for the girl, determined to help navigate her through the uncertain future.

Now residing on a small isle, a mere few days were enough for her to befriend a whole flock of zebra finches, who trailed behind her like loyal companions. Considering the girl didn't remember anything, let alone her name, Skip decided that the name 'Finch' would be more than a suitable choice.

Finch grapples with a zero to no recollection of herself and her family. Her only tangible link is a gilded medallion etched with the initials 'J.H.F’ accompanied by a few fleeting memories of her father.

Finch becomes a stalwart protector, earning recognition as the island's guardian. Fueled by an unyielding commitment, she gathers a crew at the age of 16. Two years later, they embark on their first voyage.

Her five years at sea culminates in a fierce clash with the navy, leaving Finch and her childhood friend, Shelby, as the lone survivors. In the wake of the tragedy, Finch confronts a maelstrom of emotions, grappling with guilt, simmering anger, and the rekindling of a long-suppressed fear of the unforgiving ocean.

"What value does a fierce pirate captain, one who commands the treacherous seas yet harbours such fear, truly possess?" - Niklaus, on their last meeting.

Finch and Niklaus have a history of encounters, each one more significant than the last.

Their first meeting took place when Finch was just 16, in the midst of assembling her crew. Niklaus dangled the promise of information regarding her family, but only if she'd abandon her oath. She refused, even poking fun at him the whole time—a stance she maintained on numerous occasions.

The second encounter, at the age of 23, followed a previously mentioned, deadly battle. Niklaus presented her an offer to turn back time, still on the condition of letting go of her oath. Once again, she refused, stating he's a fool if he thinks she'll ever give it up. After a few humiliating attempts at bribing her, he gives up.

A mere few weeks later, their paths crossed once more. This time, Niklaus proposed a lasting solution to banish her deep-seated fear of the ocean in return for a future favour. He pledged to provide a specific time, place, and a duel to be won, one she'd be obliged to fulfil, that is not linked to her oath. After careful consideration, and a few conditions, Finch shook on the arrangement (and still made fun of him the entire time).

[geekgirles]

The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 1: Desperate Measures

Word Count: 9339

Read on AO3

Next Chapter

Summary: In a reality where the Eliatropes arrived at an already populated World of Twelve, their presence and the concerns it rises amongst their people have forced the twelve gods to act. After all, they too had their motives for considering the portal-making race a potential threat, especially their king, Yugo.

In an effort to placate both their visitors and worshippers, Sadida is tasked with repeating a feat from the Primitive Era: create a new Divine Doll to seduce the Eliatrope King with and bring peace to the World of Twelve. After all, he is an Eliatrope and she is a Sadida Doll; they're falling in love is inevitable.

The arrival of the Eliatropes turned their world upside down. 

Until then, the inhabitants of the World of Twelve, consisting of both the followers of the twelve gods and the many other races that coexisted with them, lived in perfect harmony. Beyond a few, mostly harmless stereotypes, the Twelvians knew peace and prosperity under the six Primordial Dofus created thanks to Sadida’s intervention. 

Their world was prosperous and lush, encompassing large continents filled to the brim with opportunities to settle down, make a living, or even set out on countless, unforgettable adventures. All thanks to their gods, who, despite their own mischievousness and unpredictable nature—just ask Ecaflip’s followers…—, were always looking out for their people. 

Such peace and happiness couldn’t last forever, however. One day, practically out of nowhere, the horrifying sight of an enormous mechanical contraption, as big as a mountain, descended from the heavens, wreaking chaos among the Twelvians. 

Nobody understood what was going on. Did something happen? Had they somehow offended the gods and now they were being punished for their insolence with certain doom? Was it really the end?

Turns out, it truly was the end. The end of an era. 

The falling monstrosity they saw falling from the sky wasn’t any form of divine retribution, but the Zenith, an advanced mothership belonging to a whole different race from a whole different world: the Eliatropes. 

Unlike the Twelvians, the Eliatropes did not follow any of the twelve gods, they didn’t worship any of the deities populating the World of Twelve, for that matter! No. They were actually descended from the Great Goddess herself, the creator of all life in the Krosmoz! As such, they shared her innate, intimate knowledge on wakfu and, more importantly, her portal-making ability. 

Finding out wherever they went they could never be able to escape their unexpected visitors did not help soothe the Twelvians’ already frazzled nerves. 

And yet, despite how eerie, how otherworldly the Eliatropes were, they were nothing compared to their leaders. The Council of Six, consisting of the Primordial Eliatropes and their dragons. Indeed, not only did the Eliatropes bring six dragons with them—which were revered as some of the most powerful creatures in existence—, but they were actually semi-divine. As it were, the Eliatrope Council were demigods, and especially rare ones at that, too! Each of them was gifted with a unique ability or skill they mainly used to serve their people, but not for that were they any less formidable. 

And because that wasn’t enough, they even had their own set of Dofus and their knowledge on wakfu allowed them to both manipulate those sacred artefacts to their full potential as well as develop incredibly advanced technology. Because, apparently, they needed further advantages over the Twelvians to thrive.

When the Eliatropes formally introduced themselves—by crashing an official meeting of the Council of Twelve meant precisely to discuss what to do with them, in fact—, they insisted they simply wanted a place to settle down after their homeworld had been devastated during a most ruthless war. They had been voyageing the Krosmoz for years until they finally found their world, and now all they wanted was a place they could call home and thrive in. 

Unfortunately, despite swearing up and down they meant no harm and even wished to ally themselves with the world’s native nations and play by their rules, the council only became even warier of them. Especially when they proved their demigod nature when the World of Twelve’s greatest heroes and warriors—having been sent to cow their unwelcome visitors into submission—were soundly defeated by the Eliatrope King and greatest warrior himself, Yugo. 

After that, most Twelvians quaked in their boots whenever they believed to see a spark of blue from the corner of their eye—more than one poor, unsuspecting Feca had found themselves subjected to a beating as a result of their hair colour. A market’s jovial if busy atmosphere became awkward and stuffy the moment anyone caught a glimpse of an Eliatrope hat or, even worse, their portals. For their part, while they genuinely wanted to have a peaceful coexistence with their new neighbours, the Eliatropes chose to try avoiding further conflict and isolate themselves in Oma Island, where they’d built their new civilisation. 

Even so, the Twelvians’ paranoia only grew each passing day, and with it, their gods’ concerns. Fear and distrust reigned supreme, so much so, ever since the Eliatropes’ arrival, the only prayers the gods received from their worshippers were asking them to please do something about those outsiders. Some asked for them to be kicked out of the planet, while others begged for their gods to find a way to protect them or at least ensure the Eliatropes wouldn’t try anything to harm them. 

Unbeknownst to their worshippers, however, the gods had their own reasons for being wary of the Eliatropes. So much so, it didn’t take them much convincing to decide to convene on what to do with them.

....................................................................................................................

Far, far away, deep within Inglorium, the land of the gods themselves, the reigning divinities their followers owed their powers and appearances to were gathered within the Communal Palace. Seeing as it kept the recorded life of every single mortal, regardless of their alliance to which god, the palace was the only place where no god had greater power or influence than the rest. Thus, the reason why their war room was located there, as everyone would be forced to listen to what their fellow deities had to say while they remained seated around the same table.

And at that very moment, a very heated discussion was taking place.

“I simply do not understand why we don’t just annihilate them!” Bellowed Sram, who had grown tired of his cohorts dismissing his ideas as ‘too impulsive for an assassin god.’ “No creature has ever been known to withstand the full power of a god, not even demigods! This whole ordeal would be over already if all of us joined forces to vanquish those outsiders!”

“They are not simple demigods, however. Which is exactly what turns them into such dangerous foes.” Cra reminded, her voice poised and collected, but that, much like the Great Huntress herself, belied a cunning mind and nerves of steel. 

“Besides, have you already forgotten the reason why our dear Iop isn’t with us anymore?” Ecaflip added sarcastically, leaning back in his seat to jab a claw towards the empty chair the god of war used to occupy. 

“Indeed. As much as it hurts my pride, there is no guarantee we will actually be victorious if we were to battle the Eliatropes.” Sacrier agreed from her chained position, letting out an almost imperceptible wince at the familiar sensation of one of her worshippers exchanging their pain with her. 

However, Xelor himself was in agreement with the assassin god. “While it is a high gamble, the Eliatropes’ presence threatens the very balance of the world! Their mere existence is unlawful, who knows the kind of chaos they might unleash were they to stay?!”

Ecaflip raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses, using two of his arms to lean in closer to the god of time while the remaining pair filed his claws disinterestedly. “Look at you, talking about gambling! Last time I checked, that was my specialty, Cuckoo-clock.”

“Then perhaps you should start living up to your reputation and take more risks, god of chance.” Xelor fired back, sneering derisively at the feline deity. 

For his part, Ecaflip couldn't help but think privately how having to look down at someone’s chest to notice their eyes narrowing in on you would never stop being weird. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought. 

“Except Iop’s absence is precisely the reason why sparking a confrontation against the Eliatropes would lead to disaster.” Feca spoke up, her clipped tone revealing her irritation at some of her cohorts’ shortsightedness. “Iop was the physically strongest one among us. What chance do we have of beating opponents equally adept at combat without him?”

“You seem to be underestimating us, Feca. After all, while their prowess over wakfu is certainly versatile and impressive, we are still gods. Each one of us possesses a varied array of powers that go beyond human comprehension. Compared to us, they are nothing but a one-trick dragoturkey.” Eniripsa countered, looking down at her nails as if this whole conversation was beneath her. As if to prove her point, she conjured a scroll written in a long-lost language, one only she and her followers could still read, of course. 

“On the contrary, my dear fairy.” Enutrof said, uncoiling his golden, serpentine body to make use of his height and rise above the rest, drawing every eye to him. “Feca is merely trying to point out that we should not underestimate our opponents. After all, there is much to lose.” His red eyes glinted menacingly when he said that. As the draconic god of fortune, there was nothing Enutrof hated more than losses. 

“And why don’t we simply welcome them to our world? With enough bamboo milk, the more the merrier!” Pandawa suggested, taking a generous sip of the aforementioned beverage as if to prove her point.

As the gods kept arguing about which course of action to take, whether to face off against the Eliatropes to drive them away from their world or to try looking for a different solution, Cra’s trained eye noticed how Osamodas and Sadida had yet to say a word. What’s more, while the chimeran tamer remained composed even under all the in-fighting, not even Sadida’s mask could hide the gravely air around him, especially when the green of his skin seemed to have lost its lustre. 

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Woodland Beauty opened her mouth to force her fellow gods to confess what they were undoubtedly keeping hidden from them. “Pray tell, Osamodas, what is on your mind? Is it possible you have already drafted a plan?”

Despite her open attempt at turning the other gods against him, the Master of Beasts remained unperturbed. His tail flicking around as he stroked his long, silver beard, a wry smirk graced his features. “As a matter of fact, dearest Cra, I do have an idea that might help us keep the Eliatropes in check.”

“We expel them from our world to never return, correct?” Sram ventured, a devilish smirk stretching over his face. 

Osamodas shook his goat-like head. “That course of action could bring forth unforeseen consequences, I’m afraid.” 

That made Sram pout. 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Sacrier asked, sharing a worried look with Pandawa. 

“Same thing we did to bring peace and harmony to our world the first time.” He smirked. 

This time, it was Ecaflip who chose that moment to chime in, voicing everyone’s thoughts. “Um… Last time we created the Dofus. Are you suggesting we create more to drive them off? Wouldn’t that unsettle the balance?”

As his fellow gods voiced their agreement with the King of Fortune’s summation, as well as voiced their disagreement with what they interpreted as Osamodas’ plan, Sadida broke them all out of their own thoughts when he spoke for the first time since the meeting began. His voice, while naturally rich and deep, lacked the usual vitality associated with the god of nature. 

“Our goal would be to prevent them from unsettling the balance by ensuring they have no reason to use their Dofus.” He said somberly. 

“And how do you propose we do that, exactly?” Xelor questioned, his eyes narrowed in suspicion—and causing Ecaflip to shudder in disgust yet again. 

The smug look never left Osamodas’ face. “As I was saying, we simply must follow the same procedure as with the Primordial Dofus: we seduce them.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, almost every eye in the room settled on Cra, scanning her curvaceous body from head-to-toe. Flinching at the unexpected scrutiny she suddenly found herself in, the Master of the Bolt snapped, “What?!”

“He said we ought to seduce the Eliatropes, and since your beauty is known for bewitching anyone but your followers… I suppose that means it is up to you, my dear.” Enutrof sentenced. With a snap of his claws, he conjured up a very revealing red dress and a matching pair of heels that Ecaflip presented proudly to her with his four limbs and a winning smile on his face. 

Her eye twitching at the offence, Cra’s immediate reaction was to materialise a series of light-based arrows she wasted no time firing at her fellow gods. With a yelp, Ecaflip dropped the clothes right before he and Enutrof scrambled to try in vain to avoid the goddess’ wrath. 

All Osamodas could do in response to that was let out a long-suffering sigh, one hand pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose in vexation. 

“None of us shall seduce the Eliatropes, you fools!” He bellowed, catching their attention as he slammed his hands against the table. “Have you already forgotten what we did to create the Dofus?!”

“It has been a long time, I would know…” Xelor muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest—ehrm, face? “And, again, won’t seducing the Eliatrope dragons result in more Dofus? What about the balance then?”

“Ah, but I never said we would be seducing their dragons, now did I?” Osamodas pointed out, wagging a finger in the air. 

The gods’ eyes widened. They exchanged mistified glances with each other, silently asking if anybody knew what the Master Tamer was trying to get at. 

Rising from his crouched down position over his hind legs, Osamodas began circling around the others counterclockwise, his hands to his back as he finally shared his plan in full detail. “Objectively speaking, each and every one of the Eliatropes is a potential threat, especially the members of their council. However, it should be noted the biggest threat by far would be the one they call their king and greatest warrior, Yugo.

“Given his battle prowess and divine nature, it would be unwise to make an enemy out of him. As for his people and their interactions with ours… Well, it is undeniable their help could be crucial in the development of our world…”

“What are you suggesting, Osamodas?” Eniripsa queried, the fluttering of her wings betraying her genuine interest for how this would all play out. 

“Much like Pandawa suggested, it would be much more beneficial for us to have the Eliatropes as our allies, instead of our enemies. All we must do is ensure they feel no need to assert their dominance over our worshippers.” He explained, though the enigmatic nature of his answer didn’t do much to dispel the other gods’ doubts. 

“That’s great and all…” Sram waved a hand dismissively. “But what does that have to do with seducing their king?”

Just as the assassin god posed his question, Osamodas reached Sadida, whose forlorn gaze was fixed on the table before him. Lowering his torso slightly to speak as face-to-face as possible with the nature god, the chimaera simply said, “Would you care to do the honours, my friend?”

Sadida’s face contorted into a pained grimace. It looked as if it took every ounce of his strength not to break down right there and then. In fact, he seemed to be in so much pain, Cra was already on her feet to reach out to him and console him when he finally spoke. 

“I shall craft one last Divine Doll specifically to be gifted to King Yugo.”

A series of loud gasps echoed throughout the room, though no one was as alarmed as Cra. 

“You desire to create another Divine Doll, and to seduce the Eliatrope King with her?! Sadida, surely you don’t mean that...”

“It worked with most of the primordial dragons, and the boy has draconic blood running through his veins.” He retorted simply, although he didn’t seem to be able to look the goddess in the eye. “Besides, unlike dragons, men are simple creatures. And I intend to make my eleventh doll my masterpiece. If he falls for a gift we made specifically for him, then he should have no reason to ever turn against our world.”

“Conversely, upon discovering we entrusted the Eliatrope King with one of our own, our people should eventually feel more at ease. Since it would appear we do not consider them a threat.” Sacrier concluded. As the other gods spoke, she had been quietly connecting the dots. 

“Is it really such a good idea, though?” Enutrof questioned, still nursing his behind, where Cra’s arrow hit. “Divine Dolls are essentially your daughters, Sadida, which makes them demigoddesses in their own right. So is Yugo, and a powerful one at that. Do we really want to risk them siring a child together?”

Away from their eyes, the masked god clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles almost turned white. “That is precisely why offering one of my dolls is the best course of action, old friend. Unlike your children, they cannot bear offspring.” Then, noticing the uneasy looks they were sending him, he added, his voice low and serious. “I will make sure of it.”

A heavy atmosphere fell over the gods after that. All they could do was exchange nervous glances. Cra in particular was trying desperately to lock eyes with Sadida, worry for her old friend overwhelming her senses. She was about to close the distance between them to try to talk some sense into him when Ecaflip clasped all four of his hands. 

“Well, I like it!” He declared, smiling broadly. “We’re betting it all on love; is there a better, or riskier,  game than that? Count me in!”

“Now you sound like yourself, you fleabag!” Xelor laughed, clasping the feline on the back.

One by one, each and every god eventually gave their consent, seeing as it truly was the best idea any of them had come up with since the Eliatrope issue first appeared. Eventually, seeing herself outnumbered, even Cra had to give in, but not without making the resolution of talking to the nature god about it first. 

.....................................................................................................................

“I already made up my mind, Cra; so did the others. Even you cannot impose your will over a unanimous decision.” Sadida sighed, not even turning around from his table at his atelier to look his old friend in the eye. If he did, he knew the Woodland Beauty would be able to see his resolve crumble like dust. 

“Technically speaking, it wasn’t unanimous. Iop wasn’t there to vote.” She said matter-of-factly, trying to relieve the tension with that wry humour they had in common. The small smirk on her face at her observation fell when not even that elicited a response from Sadida. 

After the meeting, the archery goddess wasted no time following Sadida back into his lands, despite knowing she possessed no power there, and into the hutt he used for his creations, which wasn’t unlike his people’s houses on the top of the trees. Seeing as the nature god hadn’t told her to leave despite having already taken out the materials he would need to first design and then create his newest doll, Cra took her chances. With measured steps, she made her way over to the Leafy God, placing a delicate but firm hand on his shoulder to get him to look at her. 

She put on her most reassuring smile. “I am simply worried about you, my friend. There is a reason why you haven’t made any more Divine Dolls ever since the end of the Primitive Era.”

“The reason being there was no need; we already had six Dofus and that was all we required to bring peace to our land.” The masked god scoffed matter-of-factly, turning his head away from the archer. 

“We both know that is not the only reason…” Cra said testily, before realising her slip of the tongue. 

In an instant, Sadida had swirled around to face her with the most furious expression she had seen from him in centuries, not even his mask was enough to hide the depth of his anger. However, even without her prodigious sight, she knew deep down he was more hurt than angry. Still, knowing he was a few seconds away from kicking her out of his workshop—an order she would have no way to refuse, seeing as these were indeed his domains—, Cra was quick to act. 

“My deepest apologies, my friend. I should have known better than to reopen old wounds.” She said placatingly, though not any less sincerely. “I…I just… I merely worry about you. I do not wish to see you get hurt.”

With a glance at her genuinely remorseful face, obscured by fallen locks of her long, golden hair, Sadida’s own expression softened considerably. With a heavy sigh, he hung his head, before bringing a hand to his mask as he reprimanded himself for his callous treatment of his friend. 

His earthy fingers taking hold of her gloved hand startled the archer out of her thoughts. “Please, forgive me, my dear Cra. It is not you I am angry with, but myself.”

Understanding the reason for his anger without words, only the long-lasting bond they shared, Cra ventured. “Then why give in to Osamodas’ request? We found a way to make Eliatrope pay for her crimes, we can find a way to deal with her people too!”

“Because her people are not any more at fault for what happened than ours, Cra.” Sadida’s solemn declaration made the goddess gasp in surprise. “It would not be right to punish them for a crime they did not commit. Just as it would not be just of them to vent any residual fury they might be feeling towards our actions against our followers.”

He let go of the Great Huntress’ hand, his eyes fixed on the floor as he reflected. “As much as it pains me to admit it, Osamodas and Pandawa are right. The best way to protect our people is by not giving the Eliatropes reasons to attack them. And if creating an eleventh Divine Doll is the way to achieve that…” He shrugged, although the action wasn’t enough to dispel the burden he carried over his shoulders. “Then so be it.”

“If you have truly come to terms with what needs to be done, then why do you look so troubled by it?” Cra challenged. 

Sadida’s answer broke her heart, especially because she knew nothing she could say or do could dissuade him. 

“Because I will still be sending my youngest daughter elsewhere shortly after being born with no guarantee of her ever returning.”

...................................................................................................................

At first, everything was dark. A black abyss presented itself before her and, despite having the feeling she would not be harmed, the fact that she didn’t know how to navigate the darkness was still alarming. However, those fears were slowly but surely disappearing the more her newly acquired senses developed. 

First came touch. She could feel herself being seated over something smooth, yet porous. Sturdy, but light. The more she connected with her sense of touch, the more she awakened other, more refined abilities. After a while of marvelling at the sensations, a startling realisation materialised itself in her mind, unbidden: wood; she was sitting on something made out of wood. But why did that wood feel like a part of herself?

Then came the sense of smell. Taking a deep breath, soon she was enveloped by a myriad of aromas that immediately put her mind at ease. On the one hand, she perceived a waft of something rich and earthy, and she immediately gained a deep understanding of concepts like blades of fresh grass or wet, fertile soil after a delicate spring shower. But on the other hand, her nose was assaulted by far more delicate, though not any less pleasant, fragrances; a flower’s perfume, the aroma of fruits and vegetables, aromatic herbs and plants she couldn’t quite identify but had a feeling she would soon. 

When sound finally arrived, the first thing she registered, even before opening her eyes, was the cacophony of warm, loving voices echoing all around her. 

“Oh, she truly is marvellous, Father!” 

“I really like her overall shape; it’s really cute.” 

“Says the doll that could be mistaken for a loaf of bread…” Another voice said, her tone somewhat derisive.

“Not all of us can be shaped after adorable bears like you, Lophapharo.” The second voice countered with a hmph!

“Personally, I believe she could use some more mushrooms in her overall design, but the end result is quite pretty as well.” This voice was prim and proper, though the tiniest bit judgemental.

“Oh, hush, Razeriana! She is not for you, but for the Eliatrope King. It is him whom she must please.”

“In that case, I don’t think her lack of mushrooms will matter. Eliatropes are essentially humans; they are far shallower than dragons and our sister looks… like this.”

“Ibago! Are you suggesting Father’s creation is imperfect?!”

“Oh, don’t get your stitches into a twist, Sallydally.” A scoff. “I’m merely trying to look out for our sister’s well-being; as she is right now, she will be lucky if the Eliatrope King takes her in as a pet.”

“Ibago!” All voices exclaimed in unison, scandalised. 

“Now, now, my dolls. I assure you, your sister is as gifted as all of you. After all, she is mine.” A deep, rich, masculine voice—how did she know that?—cut through the others. Just then, she could feel herself be scooped up in two mossy hands and raised high above. Whoever was talking to her used his thumb to rub gentle caresses on her cheek. “Come now, Amalia. Try opening your eyes slowly.”

Amalia… Is that my name? The little doll couldn’t help but ask herself. Still, compelled by her creator’s encouraging tones, she did as she was told. With slight difficulty, she unglued her eyelids, wincing at the burning sensation caused by the unfiltered light making contact with her retinas. Thanks to a few slow blinks, she finally regained her senses, only for them to be flooded again at the explosion of colour that greeted her upon setting her gaze on the figures in front of her. 

Wherever she looked, she was assaulted by wide, curious eyes. Some of them belonged to three beautiful humanoid women with plant-like features, be it the colour of their skin and hair or the clothes they wore. Others she found on the faces of six nature-inspired… dolls? They certainly looked like dolls —and the masculine voice had described them as such—, even if she couldn’t understand how she even knew what those were; with their small, stumpy bodies, that somehow didn’t detract from their own unique beauty. And yet, as dissimilar as the nine creatures before her were, they all had something in common: they all proudly displayed a series of stitches going up and down their skin. 

But what truly got her blinking in amazement was the imposing yet oddly loving figure right in front of her. The same one that had scooped her up in his palms and commanded her to open her eyes. 

He radiated unmistakable power, a kind of power that, weirdly enough, she could feel herself responding to, resonating from her very core. His body was lean, yet his muscles firm, not unlike tree bark; the ebony tone of his skin coursing through his shape until it reached a loincloth, hiding what lay beneath; or his hands, covered by moss and fungi, and a lighter shade of the same bark comprising his body; and his head… 

Despite her limited understanding of the world around her, Amalia was sure she could not see his face. All she could see was a large, green and orange wooden mask with both ends donning completely different decorations. The lower end gave way to a white, scruffy goatee; while the upper end was adorned with rows of palm leaves and even luminescent mushrooms that ended in brownish leaves hanging from matching golden rings on each side of his head. Truth be told, the holes in both eyes and mouth made it a very impressive mask, but it still wasn’t an actual face. 

For a second, Amalia couldn’t help but wonder if she too had a mask instead of a face and that was why—what was her name…? Oh, that’s right!—Ibago found her ugly before. She gulped in horror at the mere thought.

The figure chuckled, the sound reverberating from his throat with fondness and mirth. “Worry not, my dear. I can assure you, soon you will be one of the most beautiful creatures to walk the World of Twelve. If your suitor isn’t careful, he might find himself having to fight off hordes of young men and women vying for your affection.” Even though she could tell that it was meant to be a light-hearted joke, his tone darkened slightly at the mention of her ‘suitor.’

Speaking of which…

“What is a ‘suitor’?” She found herself asking and, goodness! Was that her voice? Was that really how she sounded?

“Someone who wishes to sweep you off your feet.” The figure explained. Then realising it might be too soon for her to understand metaphors, he corrected himself. “Someone who wishes to make you fall in love with them. Although in your case, your own suitor has yet to realise that…”

“How is that possible?” She questioned, not sure she understood the strange new rules the world she was in seemed to be run by.

“Uh… I shall explain it all in due time, my dear, but first, let me introduce myself and your sisters.” Carefully passing her from both his open hands to just one, he used his new free hand to gesture at himself. “I am Sadida. God of nature and patron of the tree people inhabiting the World of Twelve. And these are your sisters: Maminala, Lophapharo, Belladona, Peparava, Yopo, Razeriana, Ladysally, Ibago, and Dathura;” he gestured to each and every one of them as he listed them off, “they’re all Divine Dolls, such as yourself, my dear.”

“A ‘Divine Doll’?” She tilted her head in confusion. “What is that?”

“My creations.” He responded simply. “I am your father and you, my dear, are my masterpiece. And you were created with a very specific purpose. But before going into detail, allow me to tell you all about the wondrous world you’re about to discover…”

......................................................................................................................

Despite the relatively short amount of time their race had inhabited Oma Island, their history, their culture, their very essence as people have already been engraved onto each and every nook and cranny composing the area. The inside of their rulers’ place of residence was no exception; the corridors inside the Eliatrope palace were an architectural marvel. Covering the expanse of the tall, sturdy walls were murals depicting their people’s history, with the Council of Six and their dragon siblings front and centre. 

In that very moment, walking down the path connecting the council room with the throne room were four figures; three of them looked quite similar and humanoid, while the fourth one stood out thanks to his reptilian, if still bipedal, appearance. What they all had in common, however, was the brisk pace at which they marched, although one of them, the one leading their little group, was visibly more ruffled than the others. 

“This is unbelievable. Just… unbelievable! The natives treat us like monsters for months on end, the gods don’t even acknowledge our presence—”

“Which we must not forget might be for the best.” The voice belonging to the reptilian silhouette cautioned wisely. 

“—and now, out of the blue, they send us—no, scratch that—they send me something called a ‘Divine Doll’ to take as my bride?! Just, who does that?!” The agitated voice belonged to none other than King Yugo of the Eliatropes, whom anyone would be able to tell was at the verge of losing it from just one look at his face. 

The reason for his ire and disbelief was simple. Shortly after arriving at the World of Twelve and choosing the distant Oma Island to settle down and restart their civilisation, the Council of Six, composed by him and his siblings—Adamaï, Qilby, Shinonomé, Nora, Efrim, Glip, Baltazar, Chibi, Grougaloragran, Mina, and Phaeris—, had come to the decision that they needed to introduce themselves to the other races populating this world and show them they meant no harm. 

Originally, they simply wanted to establish a mutually beneficial relationship between them all in order for their respective civilisations to thrive. However, their hopes of fostering positive relationships were dashed when the natives immediately responded to them with nothing but scorn and distrust. No matter their attempts at proving they only wished for a peaceful coexistence, the Twelvians regarded them as outsiders. Even worse, as invaders just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. 

They kept trying to reach out to them for months on end, to no avail. The fact that the Twelvians sent their finest warriors specifically to drive them out only cemented what they already knew. 

They were not welcomed. 

Unfortunately, even if it would have been better to just leave this world and look for another place they could call home, the Council knew it would not be possible. Their people had already spent decades navigating the Krosmoz, looking for the perfect substitute for their own world, and in all that time the only planet that met all their requirements and would be able to satisfy their needs was the World of Twelve. Who knew how long it would be until they found their next candidate? And what if they couldn’t stay there either?

No, it was better to remain where they were and limit themselves to only interact with the outside world when strictly necessary. 

Considering the uprise and unrest their arrival caused, the Yugo and his siblings were fully expecting this world’s gods to intervene, probably even cast them out or at least force them to fight for their right to have a place to belong. They even dared hope the deities might intervene in their favour and convince their followers to give them a chance. But it was all for naught. No one came.

Which made the fact that one of their guards was forced to interrupt a council meeting to inform their king something called ‘a Divine Doll’ had been sent directly from Inglorium as his bride-to-be all the more infuriating. 

“And what’s more!” The Eliatrope went on to say. “How can they just assume I need a bride? How do they know I’m not already married, or betrothed?!”

Adamaï perfectly understood where Yugo was coming from. He was his very own dragon twin brother, after all. As with most council meetings taking place indoors, he was making use of his humanoid yet draconic form to walk beside his brother inside the palace. Even if he understood how his brother felt, however, he couldn’t help but shake his head with a sigh at his words. 

“Yugo, they are the gods of this world. They probably oversee everything that happens here.” He was quick to remind his king. “Meaning, they’re most likely aware you are very much single.”

“Have been in all your past lives, as a matter of fact. A few, several-years-long flings here and there, but you have never taken a queen in the entirety of our history.” Another voice chimed in, sounding somewhat amused. 

Said infuriatingly smug voice belonged to an older-looking Eliatrope clad in a long, white tunic over brown pants and shoes, its hood resembling a pair of horns that ended in a tuft of dark fur at the back. He had a long face that culminated in a braided beard the same hue as his long, dirty blond hair. A small pair of round glasses over his nose only amplified the sharp intellect reflected in his hazel eyes. 

“Thank you, Qilby.” Yugo groaned tiredly, rubbing his eyes in frustration at his brother’s need to remind him of every single event that had ever taken place in the course of their many lifetimes. “My point is, whatever it is they’re trying to do, it won’t work. The only reason we’re not sending that thing packing is because Mina and Phaeris advised us against it.”

“As much as I agree with you, brother, Mina and Phaeris believe doing so will only be worse, as it could be taken as a declaration of war against the gods themselves. And I’m afraid they’re probably right.” Nora spoke, her pink eyes trained on the path ahead of them. 

Her hair as pale as her porcelain skin, it was mostly covered by a long, magenta cloak that reached down her knees. Whenever her movements would force the cloak to open and reveal what lay behind, a matching magenta, form-fitting, sleeveless suit and fingerless gloves up to her forearms appeared. Despite their initial role as their people’s joy-bringers, the war against the Mechasms had hardened both her and her dragon brother Efrim into capable warriors in their own right.

“Nora, is right, Yugo.” Adamaï said, putting a claw over his brother’s shoulder. “You don’t have to take the Divine Doll as your bride, but it would not be wise to rudely reject a gift from the gods, either.” Then, a small gasp leaving his throat as he came to a realisation, he added, much more enthused. “What if this ends up being the chance we were waiting for? What if this is the key to convince the Twelvians we are not a threat?”

“Not even them would be able to reject our presence for much longer if they learned we have their gods’ blessing.” Qilby pointed out. 

“I know, I know.” Their king said, running a hand through his hair from under his own hood in frustration.” You’re all probably right, I just… I don’t know… I mean, what even is a Divine Doll?!” Yugo wondered aloud, his mind racing. 

Without even having to look at him, Yugo could just feel Qilby perk up in excitement at the prospect of explaining something. And then Glip was supposed to be the teacher… 

“According to my research on this world and its lore,” the bespectacled Eliatrope began, “Divine Dolls, also known as Sadida Dolls, for that is their creator, the god of nature; were created for the sole purpose of making this world’s primordial dragons fall in love with them to get them to produce Dofus.

“Apparently, there are ten dolls and ten dragons, but only six of them succeeded in their mission. Meaning, much like us, there are only six Dofus native to this world.” Although he finished his retelling, Qilby was clearly not quite done, for he pushed his glasses up with one finger before adding, “Considering they were created by Sadida himself, despite the unconventional means behind their conception, they are regarded as demigoddesses in their own right. In fact, they are said to be the only ones besides the gods themselves that get to live in Inglorium.” At his siblings’ astonished expressions at that piece of information, all he could do was shrug. “Yes, it appears they’re that special.”

“So all the more reason not to be disrespectful towards our guest. Just wonderful…” Yugo let out a tired sigh. 

“Look on the bright side,” Nora said, a wry smile dancing at her lips, “that means you at least won’t have to worry about your different lifespans. All demigods are virtually immortal, after all.”

Knowing his sister and her love for messing with him, Yugo only narrowed his eyes at her, unamused. As terrible a thought as it was, this doll living for as long as he did only meant he would not be able to rid himself of her until he died, when normally, he would have only had to wait a few decades before being free. Again, just wonderful.

“I don’t understand, however.” Adamaï said, his chin caught in between his thumb and index finger pensively. “You said Sadida Dolls were meant to seduce dragons.” A nod from Qilby. “Then why would they send one to Yugo, instead of one of us, Eliatrope dragons? I don’t like this…”

Nora’s expression sobered up at the grim reminder. “All the more reason to keep our eyes peeled for anything.”

Right as she said this, they reached the door leading them into the throne room, where they had been informed the doll would be waiting for them. Taking a deep breath in a feeble attempt to reign his thunderous emotions in lest they came out in full force and risked offending their uninvited guest, Yugo sent a nod towards the guards positioned at either side, silently signalling for them to open up the doors. 

As the gates creaked open, the three Primordial Eliatropes and the dragon accompanying them could finally take a good look at the creature waiting for them inside. As his eyes registered her form, all Yugo could think of was how this… wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting. 

Standing in the middle of the room was the tiniest thing he had ever seen in his life—a thought he kept to himself in case Qilby felt like correcting him on how a baby singing whale he saw back in their 3215th reincarnation was actually the smallest thing he had ever seen, or something. Looking back at him with wide, brown eyes—he thought they were brown; it was hard to tell with her size and the distance between them— was a simple, dark brown rag doll. Her shape could not have been any more complex than a figure with a body, four limbs with no discernible fingers or toes, and a big round head with a small mouth shaped like an ‘o’, the aforementioned pair of brown eyes, and a leafy tuft of green hair on her head. 

As his siblings exchanged confused glances and he heard Adamaï muttering ‘This are the famed Divine Dolls that made dragons fall in love with them?’, despite himself and his best attempts at being cordial towards the poor thing, a disbelieving Yugo could only blurt out, “If this is supposed to be my bride, then I don’t think the gods know much about our anatomy…”

His words broke her out of her trance, an embarrassed blush making its way over to her cheeks. She really had intended to present herself in the same elegant, refined manner her sisters had suggested, to display her divine heritage in its full splendour. In fact, ever since she was guided to the throne room to await her suitor—as Father called the Eliatrope King—, she had been discreetly rehearsing what she would say and how she would present herself. 

But the moment the large, beautifully detailed doors opened to reveal the Eliatrope King, her mind skidded to a halt at the same time as her little heart skipped a beat. Walking towards her was the most handsome man she had ever seen—granted, she hadn’t really met that many, but there was still something very special about him. Even if he wore a long, blue cloak and his head was covered by a wabbit-shaped hood, his chiselled body was easily discernible underneath. His every curve and muscle was only accentuated by a dark blue, tight, fingerless body-suit with golden detailing. 

What little she could see of his face didn’t disappoint either. Despite his chiselled features, he had this boyish quality to him, something that made him extremely endearing. Only hammering this fact were his sharp and alert, yet big and kind dark brown eyes and his short, messy dirty blond hair. 

But when his words registered in her mind—why did his voice have to be attractive, too?!— Amalia couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious about her body. For a moment, she feared Ibago’s warning against humans, especially men, had been right and her appearance would pose a problem. But just then, her eyes glinted determinedly as she remembered both Father and Dathura’s teachings: as the eleventh Divine Doll, she was not as restricted by her physical form as her older sisters. 

Moreover, she had an ace up her sleeve. 

But first things first. 

“Greetings, Your Majesty and members of the Council of Six. It is a great honour to be here.” She bowed politely, her body bending ninety degrees. “My name is Amalia. I am Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll. The gods send me as proof of good will between their followers and your people.”

Just as Yugo’s mind scrambled to understand what she meant by ‘eleventh doll’ and the implications behind it, the doll in question—Amalia—interrupted his train of thought. “It appears my current physical form is disconcerting. Please, allow me to rectify that.”

Before anyone present could even utter a word, a veritable hurricane of pink flower petals came to surround the little doll, swirling around her and hiding her from view. Despite himself, the breeze that originated from it was so strong, Yugo couldn’t help but avert his eyes as he covered his face with his forearm, his siblings following his lead. 

When he finally felt the wind dying down, the Eliatrope tentatively lowered his arm. Blinking slowly, he finally allowed his gaze to settle on Amalia and, eyes widening at the sight, promptly lost all ability to form a single coherent thought. 

The first thing he noticed was that her eyes were indeed a warm, chocolate brown, as well as big and doe-like, luring him in with their siren song. The second most eye-catching thing about her was her hair, elegantly framing her face. It was almost paradoxical, how such an untamed, forest-green mane could also look so silky, which also created a wonderful contrast with her smooth mahogany skin, not a single blemish in sight. Her green locks were pulled back in a high ponytail by a wooden, forked headband that circled around her head only to then rise up beyond her forehead, emulating two antlers or even the branches of a tree.

Yugo couldn’t understand why then, but at the sight of it, his hands itched to just reach out to her hair and touch it. To see for himself if it was truly as silky as it looked. Then, almost as if drawn to it, his eyes couldn’t help sweeping down her body and taking it all in, drinking her in. 

She was clad in what at first glance looked like a dress but that, upon closer inspection, the copious amount of skin it showed proved it was actually a two-piece joined together at the front and with several straps on her thighs and back. The upper half consisted of a top made from orange leaves adorned by a rather large white daisy in the very middle. Said daisy was then connected to a leaf the same colour of her hair that went down her equally orange leaf skirt, the same as the one covering her posterior. She was adorned in matching green anklets and armlets that reached up to her shins and forearms, respectively. 

At the sight of her silhouette, Yugo, the Eliatrope King and greatest warrior his people had ever known, could only gulp with slight difficulty. Her exposed legs were long and toned, going all the way up to her invitingly mouthwatering hourglass hips. Despite her modest bosom, her petite frame managed to imbue her alluring figure with a certain sweetness that somehow only highlighted her undeniable beauty. Just as sweet was her round, symmetrical doll-like face, which he assumed was to be expected since she was a doll, only now he was beginning to understand just how truly divine she truly was. 

As he stood there, drinking her in, all his admittedly short-circuited mind could think was that she was the loveliest flower he had ever seen. He had a feeling not even Qilby would be able to correct him on that. 

Adamaï could only blink blankly at what had just happened, astonished. Sure, as a dragon, he was no stranger to shapeshifting, but seeing an unassuming rag doll turn herself into a wild beauty with only the help of a torrent of flower petals was a stretch even for him! 

He was about to comment on the change with his brother, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, when he had to do a double take at the state his twin was in, his own mouth hanging open in silent shock. 

Yugo was staring intently at Amalia, his whole expression speaking louder than a thousand words. He stood there, slack-jawed, eyes wide and unblinking, and the most furious blush Adamaï had ever seen on his brother’s face had erupted all over his skin. 

He looked more like a hormonal teenager seeing his crush naked than a centuries-old king. 

Remembering Yugo’s comment right before Amalia literally stole his breath away—seriously, he didn’t look like he was even breathing—, Adamaï couldn’t help himself and leaned in closer to whisper to Nora. “I’d say the gods certainly know what they’re doing…”

“If he doesn’t want her, I’ll gladly take her.” Nora whispered right back. 

Qilby simply raised an intrigued eyebrow at this development. 

Their whispering, coupled with Amalia’s face contorting in the slightest confusion, was enough to finally break Yugo out of his trance. Clearing his throat in an effort to appear nonchalant, and failing miserably, the king stepped closer to his guest to say, “It…It is an honour to have you here with us as well, Amalia. Although I believe you can imagine how unexpected this all is…”

“Oh, yes. Father did warn me you were not originally aware of my imminent arrival.”

Nora refrained herself from saying something rude about a god, especially in front of what was essentially his daughter. Everyone else in the room could already tell what she was thinking, after all. Efrim in particular must have felt it from all the way over to the opposite end of the palace. 

“Nevertheless, I trust your stay with us will be a pleasant experience for you.” Yugo went on, trying very hard not to lose himself in those brown eyes of hers for what he had to say next was very important. “Amalia, if you don’t mind my asking, what exactly were you told you are to do here?”

The question seemed to take her aback for a moment, her cheeks colouring as she gathered her thoughts. Shyly tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, she answered. “I was told I am to remain by your side for as long as you permit me, Your Majesty. Hopefully, that will result in you falling in love with me.”

Adamaï almost choked.

Before Yugo had time to get his heart pumping blood again, Amalia added, a little bashfully. “Though, truth be told, I do not even fully understand what ‘falling in love’ is, let alone how I am supposed to achieve it. Father calls you my suitor, but I still don’t fully understand what it means, let alone what it means that I am to be your bride.”

Oh, so she had no idea what she was even supposed to do here. That made things easier somehow. 

Yugo panicked when Qilby began to speak.

“Well, you see, my dear, a bride is a woman who is either married or about to be—.”

“Thank you, Qilby.” Yugo said loudly through gritted teeth, at the same time as both Nora and Adamaï clamped their hands over the eldest Eliatrope mouth to get him to shut up. Turning back to Amalia, he willed the heat to leave his cheeks. “Um, yes, brides and marriages usually go hand-in-hand.” Then, grabbing her hands to get her to look him in the eye, his voice turned serious. “However, Amalia, there is no guarantee you and I will get married.”

Her brow furrowing in confusion had no business being so cute. “Why not? Is it my appearance? Is it not to your liking?”

Yugo’s heart stopped. That was definitely not the problem. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He hated how strangled his voice sounded, and he especially hated his siblings chortling at his expense. What was the point in being king if it didn’t save you from brotherly teasing?

“Then what is it?” She pressed on. At the same time, she stepped a little closer to him, and suddenly all the Eliatrope could see was her beautiful face. 

Oh, what did he do to deserve such sweet torture?!

Mustering every ounce of strength he possessed, he took one deep breath before looking her straight in the eye. But seeing her big, doe-like eyes staring back at him in wonder deflated his resolve somewhat. With a sigh, he settled for explaining things from a different angle. 

“It’s got to do with what you said about making me fall in love with you.” He settled on. “Love is a very complicated thing; there’s no guarantee that will ever happen, therefore, it would be foolish to marry only to be miserable.”

Eyes widening slightly in realisation, Amalia had the strange feeling something inside her broke. Weird. She had been born recently and Father was a master craftsman. She should be in perfect condition. She shook her head and with that those wayward thoughts; now it wasn’t the time for that. 

She looked back at the king. There really was something magnetic about him, even if she couldn’t tell what it was. 

“Then I suppose I should make my way back to Inglorium and explain the reason for my return to Father. You have my deepest gratitude for your time.”

Just as the Divine Doll let go of his hands and bowed down to them yet again, turning around to abandon the Eliatropes’ territory, Yugo and his siblings panicked, terrified at the prospect of the twelve gods taking their fury out on them. 

While Adamaï and Nora sent him pointed looks and gestured wildly at Amalia’s retreating form (Qilby just shrugged), Yugo acted without thinking. He pointed one hand at the floor beneath him, creating a portal underneath his feet that immediately transported him right in front of the Sadida Doll, who could only take one startled step back in response. 

Eyes glimmering in fascination, looking him up and down, all Amalia could say was, “Incredible…”

Taking advantage of her stupefied state, Yugo reached out for her hand again—was it weird how much he’d been doing it in the sparse few moments he had known her? Should he be worried?—; with her attention back on him, he rushed to say. “However, even though there is no guarantee love will ever blossom between us, I meant it when I say we are honoured to have you here. And if the gods expect us to spend our time together, then it will be my pleasure to be your friend, Amalia.” Then, he added. “Oh, and if we’re going to be friends, you can just call me Yugo. I was never good with formalities.”

“You have my thanks, Yugo.”

Her smile was so blinding, Yugo had the feeling his subsequent reaction to it was not a good sign for a perfectly platonic relationship. 

After that, he formally introduced his siblings, with promises of letting her meet the remaining members of the Council and tours around the palace, and maybe even the island. They had to part ways relatively soon since Yugo and the rest still had some urgent matters to attend to, but he instructed some of his guards to guide Amalia to what would be her room from then on. 

As he walked back to the council room, flashes of Amalia’s smiling face materialising in his mind, Yugo couldn’t help but wonder what awaited him now that the Sadida Doll was here to stay. 

[kaleen-art]

Lupin Movie Marathon Analysis #2

The Castle of Cagliostro

I wanna start with my personal history with this movie. A former friend of mine had introduced me to Lupin III around early 2022, and ended up convincing me to watch the first 2 episodes of Part 2. I enjoyed them, but they made no real impressions on me.

Then, he recommended this movie, “The Castle of Cagliostro”. He told me the film was on Netflix, so I made myself a quick breakfast, sat down, and put on the movie. What I saw that day made such a huge impact on me, that I’ve been stuck in Lupin III hell for the past 2 years now.

This essay has taken a long time to write. It’s been really hard for me to accurately summarize my scattered thoughts on this movie, because not only is it genius, but I have such an emotional attachment to it that I wanted to do it as much justice as possible. So join me, as I dive into The Castle of Cagliostro, why it’s great, and why I love it so much.

The Castle of Cagliostro is the quintessential Lupin movie. While the previous film, The Mystery of Mamo is fantastic in its own right, Cagliostro has had the most influence on Lupin, and arguably anime as a whole. But in order to talk about Cagliostro, we have to talk about its director. Hayao Miyazaki. THE anime director. Famed for his works at Studio Ghibli, this is his theatrical debut as a director. However, his first rodeo as a director was actually the first Lupin TV series, which I find necessary to mention when discussing why Cagliostro is such a good Lupin film.

Lupin III Part 1 had a rocky start being directed by Masaaki Ohsumi, who would later go on to direct the fifth Lupin TV Special, Voyage to Danger, a special I hold in high regard. His work on the first Lupin series, however, is subpar. While he is a talented director, his emphasis on the darker aspects of Lupin without the charm that makes the series so endearing to fans leaves me wanting more. Despite already having planned more episodes of Part 1 (leading to an unusual production process), Ohsumi was fired for refusing to tone down the unappealing mature content of the TV series. That’s when A-Productions, the dream team of Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata (of Studio Ghibli fame himself) came into play.

The A-Productions era of Lupin III Part 1, which encompasses episodes 7-8, 10-11, and 13-23 is fantastic and perhaps my favorite interpretation of the Lupin cast. They’re all fun, lovable, and charming with just the right amount of silliness, and from the character writing to the action, this era of Part 1 more than delivers. But this is not a Part 1 essay (despite my prior false promises, sorry), so let me get to the point.

A-Pro, and specifically Miyazaki had the tough task of turning Ohsumi’s Lupin he had already established as a deadly and reckless killer burglar into a charming mischievous thief. And though I have heard some people say the transition between the two was night and day, I rather disagree myself. I think throughout the earlier episodes of Part 1 you can see Lupin’s character slowly morph as A-Pro took more control of the series. The perfect example is Ep. 7, “One Wolf Calls Another”, directed by A-Pro, though originally planned by Ohsumi. This episode was A-Pro’s way of wrapping up the Goemon plot initially presented in the prior episode, “The Coming of Goemon XIII”. In it, we see Lupin slowly but surely warm up to Goemon eventually resulting in the conclusion to the episode, where the two are seen laughing after getting into a comical chase.

So, my point is, throughout Part 1, we as the audience see Lupin transform from the more ruthless Ohsumi-era Lupin to the Lupin we all know and love. But here’s where Cagliostro comes in. Though there was no explicit need for it, Miyazaki wanted to conclude this character arc of Lupin. Using what he had learned during the production of Part 1, Miyazaki wove together a plot with elements of ep. 10, 11, 21, and more, leading us to the 1979 classic, The Castle of Cagliostro.

This is where the essay really starts.

The Castle of Cagliostro subverts your expectations in many ways. Already, we start out with the Green Jacket. Despite the prevailing attitude amongst Lupin directors being Red Jacket, to evoke a more manga-esque feel, Miyazaki deliberately chose the Green Jacket. This will especially become important when talking about Lupin’s characterization in the movie.

The film starts out like a typical Lupin romp, right as Lupin and Jigen complete a typical heist. And up until the car chase, it seems like this is just going to be typical Lupin fare, comparable to that of one of the later Part 1 episodes. That’s until the car chase. The scene starts out pretty abruptly, disturbing the rather peaceful movie up until then. Between Treasure of the Flame (or as it’s usually called, Fire Treasure) and the shot of Jigen changing the tire as Lupin lies in the Fiat, the film has remained pretty calm.

Then, BOOM! The car chase is purposely disruptive, with its bombastic music choice and spectacular animation. It’s tonal whiplash, but in the best way possible.

As the movie continues, we see Lupin’s motivations change as the movie slowly grows farther away from our preconceived notions of what the movie will be. He slowly grows less and less focused on Cagliostro’s counterfeit cash, and more on rescuing Princess Clarisse. Like Mamo, this film is sort of like another character study on Lupin. His partners take a backseat, as in comparison to Mamo, which specifically tested Lupin’s relationships with his comrades, this movie wants to challenge how we perceive Lupin as an individual.

And this is where I get to the meat of this essay. Lupin III. The characterization that either makes or breaks this movie for people. While most people in this fandom do agree that this is an objectively well-made movie, I have heard one too many times the complaint that Lupin’s characterization is not accurate to how he really is, and therefore, it is not a good Lupin III movie. Many find him too kind, not insane enough. But I rather disagree with this. In fact, I think this is a great characterization of him. The problem is that most people don’t view this movie how I believe was meant to be viewed.

Besides the subversion of expectations, Miyazaki specifically picked the Green Jacket not just to evoke feelings of Part 1, but to specifically tie this movie back to it. As I said earlier in the essay, despite it being a byproduct of Part 1’s irregular production, throughout Part 1, we see Lupin embark on a character arc of sorts, becoming more empathetic throughout. Cagliostro is the natural conclusion to this. We can assume Cagliostro takes place at least a good amount of time after Part 1. Part 1 (as confirmed in the show itself) took place when it came out, set in 1971-1972, so in that same vein, I’d place this movie around 1979, almost a decade later.

It’s obvious why Lupin acts more maturely when you view it from this angle, because he’s now in his later years, perhaps even mid-life. He’s simply grown as a person. Miyazaki wasn’t just making another wacky silly Lupin romp, as enjoyable as they can be. He was making a point about the character. And in order to prove that point, he made Clarisse. 

Clarisse is an amalgamation of a few side characters from Part 1. Primarily, Lisa (episode 11) and Rie Makita (episode 21). Like Lisa in her respective episode, Clarisse serves as the damsel in distress for Lupin to rescue. But unlike Lisa, who was mostly helpless throughout the episode, Clarisse is able to put up a good fight against the count when it counts, which is comparable to Rie, the so-called “tomboy”. By herself, she’s already a great character. Kind-hearted and strong-willed, she’s just really likable. I have yet to see someone who dislikes Clarisse.

But I think what really makes her such a unique character is her relationship with Lupin. A lot of people (usually unfamiliar with the Lupin character) tend to misread their relationship as a romantic one (and the Streamline dub, I’ll get into that later, does NOT help) but when you take into account Lupin’s supposed age it’s a little gross. But disregarding that, the genuine friendship they develop is adorable and really humanizes Lupin. Once again, this movie serves to show how he’s grown, and Clarisse is the symbol of his growth. 

As @lastflunky notes in her analysis of Cagliostro which I really enjoy, Clarisse saves Lupin’s life, and in return, Lupin saves her life. Young Clarisse saves Lupin 10 years prior, and in return, Lupin saves her from the Cagliostro guards pursuing her at the beginning of the film. Then, Clarisse prevents Lupin from being shot by Jodot by guarding him and sacrificing the rings and her freedom. Lupin repays the favors by of course saving her and defeating the Count for good. This not only puts a twist on the whole damsel in distress concept by making Clarisse capable, even in a bad situation, but also just goes to show how much these two genuinely care about each other. It’s beautiful and their relationship is honestly one of the best parts about the movie.

Count Cagliostro is a good villain, in the sense that he's awful. While admittedly not as interesting as Mamo, he's a fierce antagonist and very intimidating, especially to Clarisse. During the scene where he's talking to Clarisse after throwing Lupin in the castle dungeon, the tension is as thick as a knife. He's a well-written villain in that, though you hate him, he keeps you on the edge of your seat. And because of how evil he is, it's even funnier to see Lupin mess around with him. (His death is also incredibly gruesome, but then again, Mamo burnt to death and then got his brain exploded, so what's worse?)

I’m going to discuss the other characters relatively quickly because this movie and therefore my analysis is very Lupin-centered. Jigen follows his Part 1 characterization. He’s cheeky, fun-loving, and always at Lupin’s side. I personally like Jigen when he’s more like this and less like his more cynical Part 2 depiction. Besides that, though he doesn’t have a lot of depth, he serves as a means for Lupin to provide exposition and as Lupin’s partner when needed. And for that, he does a good job. Goemon is much the same way and has incredibly little time in the movie. A lot of people have complained about this and while I do like to see Goemon utilized, personally I’d prefer that they only use him (or any character) for that matter when needed and not just to be there for the sake of being there. Because of that though I don’t have much to say on the subject of him. I like Goemon’s design in this movie though, the skintone is a little darker than how it is in Part 1 which I dig.

Zenigata is GOOD in this movie. Which makes sense if you know anything about Hayao Miyazaki. He’s the perfect mix of serious and silly, as though he is very stern, he also has his comedic moments, such as when he exposes the Cagliostro counterfeit bills to the world, a scene that STILL makes me laugh out loud. His alliance with Lupin makes for a fun dynamic and overall he’s just great. Very rectangular, 10/10.

Fujiko Mine is an odd case in this movie because to a lot of people, she isn’t Fujiko. This movie definitely appeals to a more “All Ages” demographic, which obviously means the more sexy side of Fujiko was toned down. And while another writer may have struggled to make a more typical femme fatale archetype work, because of how good Miyazaki’s Fujiko is (watch Part 1), she’s still just the right amount of petty to make it Fujiko, to me at least. My final note is that her relationship with Lupin is nice. They’re not lovers in the movie (in fact, Fujiko says they were past lovers to Clarisse) but I still find their dynamic fun and cute. Overall, I love Fujiko in this movie. She's great.

This movie has almost the opposite message as Mamo does. While Mamo is about Lupin never changing, this movie is about how Lupin has to change to be the best version of himself. And while I believe the movie isn’t as deep in themes as Mamo is, I still find that a really great message and take on Lupin as a character from Miyazaki. As much as I love insane deranged Mamo Lupin, there’s something to be said about Cagliostro’s sheer earnesty. I love this movie.

Now that I’m done with my plot dissection, it’s time for the part of the analysis where I talk about everything else! The art.

This movie is GORGEOUS. While Mamo uses limited animation to create more interesting angles and shots than this movie, there’s something to be said about the beauty of the smooth animation, detailed character movements, vibrant colors, and beautiful backgrounds. It all comes together to make such a VIVID film. I love it. I love every second of it.

The designs are also great, as they're very Part 1 influenced, and I can't NOT love designs brainstormed by my favorite Lupin artist, Yasuo Ohtsuka.

My favorite scene in the movie, in terms of animation, is definitely the scene where Lupin leaps from the roofs of Cagliostro Castle. I love how it starts, with Lupin fumbling with the string and dropping it. The character animation is so subtle yet so expressive, and when he starts barreling down the roof and makes those grand leaps, in tandem with the music cues… it's awe-inspiring.

As for everything else, the soundtrack is amazing and has the amazing “Treasure of the Flame” as well as my personal favorite Lupin song, Samba Temperado, featuring to this day, my favorite rendition of it. The Japanese voice acting is great too, featuring a standout performance from Yasuo Yamada as he takes a calmer and more mature take on the character that I really enjoy. Sumi Shimamoto’s Clarisse is really cute (and she also voices Nausicaa from Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind which I really like), and Taro Ishida’s Count Cagliostro is very menacing, which fits the character really well. Everyone else provides a great performance as well.

Anyway this is getting long, so dub rapid fire! Streamline dub has pretty good voice acting (Bob Bergen’s Lupin is a personal favorite) but the script is really inaccurate (which isn’t their fault, evidence suggests they received a really awful translation of the JP ver.), and they added a really stupid romance subplot with Lupin and Clarisse. Manga dub is pretty decent, even though I don’t love the VAs as much, and the unnecessary swearing doesn’t really work for this movie. The Family Friendly cut is also pretty okay, but the editing is a little rough.

So, now comes the conclusion. But before I end off this essay, I’d like to say why I personally love Cagliostro so much. Even aside from the actual quality of the film, it just means a lot to me. It was what made me a real Lupin fan, and got me to meet so many wonderful people through this fandom. It’s so accessible, so simple, and yet so rich in depth, that it’s just… the perfect movie.

I had never really considered it until this rewatch, but it was as Lupin and Clarisse looked toward Cagliostro Castle that something clicked in my brain. This is my favorite movie ever made. I’ve heard some people argue this movie is bad or overrated, because it influenced the later Lupin films to be more bland and stale, but personally, I don’t think it’s fair to judge the movie by things completely out of it or its makers’ control. The Castle of Cagliostro is an amazing movie, and it’s a fantastic Lupin III movie. 

That’s the end of this essay. My rating? 10/10 movie.

Special thanks to Shmeepy, Curley, Kat, Sapphic, and the others in Caggy for reading this essay as I posted WIPs.

Also thanks to Delaney Jordan and lastflunky for their analyses of Miyazaki's Lupin and Cagliostro respectively, they were big inspirations in writing this essay.

Join Cagliostro Central, my Lupin III server named after this very movie.

Also if you just like seeing stuff from me read my comic, yes I'm a filthy plugger what of it.

Ok bye see you in September for Babylon (hopefully I get it out sooner)

[themythecho]

Suicide Depictions in EPIC: The Musical (An essay I wrote in 30 minutes after the wisdom saga came out because I'm neurodivergent and write essays for fun)

(TRIGGER WARNING/SPOILER WARNING FOR: Self-Ham, Death, Suicide, all the EPIC sagas, but mainly the wisdom saga)

It is no question that in recent years, the media we consume has been covering darker and vulnerable topics. One prime example of this EPIC: The Musical. This musical is loosely based on the Odyssey as it follows Odysseus and his twenty year voyage to return to his wife; Penelope, his son; Telemachus, and his kingdom; Ithaca, after the Trojan War.

The overall recurring value in the musical is “Ruthlessness is Mercy upon ourselves” stated by director and lead vocalist of the show: Jorge (Jay) Rivera-Herrans. When Odysseus is faced with the decision to kill an infant boy that would later raise tyranny in all his path, the audience first hears the lines “When does a man become a monster”, which will return in later songs as well.

Those particular lyrics are letting the listener know of the man verses self conflicts Odysseus faces through the musical. Later on, in the Ocean saga, Odysseus hears this line again when part of his crew is murdered by Poseidon. These lines appear in three more sagas after this of the current sagas released: The Underworld Saga, The Thunder Saga, and The Wisdom Saga. Each of these instances, Odysseus is faced with the knowledge of the soldiers who died, or will die under his command.

The Wisdom Saga is the most notable Occurrence of this fact. Odysseus is standing at the edge of a cliff on Ogygia; Calypso’s island. Calypso calls out to Odysseus to rethink things, telling him she’ll greet him with Open Arms. This triggers Odysseus to remember the wise words of his friend; Polites, who died almost a decade before these events. He hears his voice telling him to “Greet the world with open arms”, but as those words flood his mind, other quotes from various characters in different spots of the musical overwhelm his thoughts.

Odysseus yells out to the empty ocean that “All I hear are screams”, which is a nod to the earlier saga; The Underworld Saga. He continues to yell this out, as a desperate attempt to find some sign, some will to live. This is when Odysseus calls out to his last resort, his old friend: Athena. The song ends here, which leaves the audience with pain and even confusion.

So why is this depiction of suicidal idealation, such a great representation of such thoughts? To start out, Odysseus’s suicidal thoughts are not a surprise to the fans of EPIC at all. Odysseus’s thoughts of self-harm have festered in him from the beginning, starting with killing an infant, as he states “I’d rather bleed for you!” in response to being asked to kill the son of Hector. This example is definite proof, that Odysseus had suicidal idealation for quite some time, and each traumatic event latched onto that fact until his breaking point

The other point of why this is such an interesting take on suicidal thoughts, is the reference to him having screams play back in his mind. As a general quirk to the musical, it uses repetitive lyrics and tones for certain characters, which makes them easily recognizable by these lines. The repetition of melodies is seen all throughout the musical, but Jorge Rivera-Herrans uses this to his advantage while writing these depressing train of thoughts. Having urges, almost like someone is telling you to act upon something is not irregular among Suicidal People, and Jorge is aware of this by the likes of the musical. He uses this trait to relate it to Odysseus, while still staying loyal to the original musical and the overall theme of it.

All in all, Jorge Rivera-Herrans has depicted how and why Odysseus faces such thoughts in a delicate and sensitive manner that can really speak to the listener. These words are able to showcase how Odysseus’s trials and tribulations through his journey did not just leave physical scars, but emotional scars as well. This can leave the audience to infer of Odysseus’s conquering his suicidal thoughts, leading him back to his home. This can also have the audience question if he will be able to defeat his thoughts in the first place, having him succumb to it.