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crouchingtiger28 · 2 years

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Still Waters

A good way to find a smuggler, pirate, or poacher in Silthaven is to look for the fishermen who claim to be only fishermen. You can’t earn a living as a fisherman in Silthaven, no matter how often you go out or how much you bring in. Most split their ships between fishing and other – more lucrative – careers. If they don’t advertise it, it’s typically less legal.

A good way to find an adventurer, hero, or undercover enforcer in Silthaven is to look for the fishermen who claim to be only fishermen. They don’t know the docks, don’t know how much fishermen really make or what they ought to be doing different.

The tricky part, Dylan knows, is figuring out which one is which.

The port of Silthaven smells like saltwater and fish, pitch and oil. There are ship hands and port workers tromping over the floating docks, carrying crates, ropes, barrels, and nets. One side of the dock is roughly full of charter ships and the other is for working ships. Makeshift shops are set up on the shore, selling last-minute supplies for travelers and always-needed supplies for the workers.

Dylan strides through the crowd, glancing at boats and men propped against the wall. Someone catches his eye, and he inspects them closer.

He’s sitting on the edge of the dock, boots hanging over the edge. His hand flashes in neat, practiced motions with the netting needle. There’s a small knife at his side, unornamented but it looks like good quality. His skill with the netting needle means his can’t be an amateur, so probably not an adventurer or hero, and he isn’t paying more attention than necessary to those on the dock, so most likely not an enforcer.

Pirates – when they can help it – don’t do much actual fishing and poachers use harpoons mostly, to spear larger game like mermaids and kelpies. Dylan settles onto the dock himself, pulling a whittling knife and a chunk of wood that will eventually be a whistle from his satchel. He keeps half an eye on the dock to watch for thieves or trouble and another half eye on the ‘fisherman’.

He sits there for about fifteen minutes, whittling his whistle. The fisherman stays too, then stands when his net is mended.

“Ho there!” Dylan calls at the fisherman, and he stops and turns behind him. “I’m looking for passage out of Silthaven. Do you think you could help me?”

The fisherman-smuggler watches him with an unreadable expression, “The charter boats are over there.” He gestures with a rough hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya’. But there’s some close scrutiny on the charter boats.” Dylan says, his tone and manner are casual even as he pushes his bangs slightly to the side. The brand on his forehead – a spiraling, jagged symbol that everyone across the continent recognizes as a convict’s mark – is visible for a brief second before his bangs settle back into place.

“I’m Hyd.” The fisherman says, dark eyes flicking back to Dylan’s, “You will pay me double for the trip.”

“But of course, captain Hyd!” Dylan says, shouldering his bag, “anything else?”

“I leave at sunset,” Hyd tells him brusquely, “I will not wait for you. I will not fight for you. I will not lie for you.”

“I expected nothing more.” Dylan assures him, “Can I stow my pack on your ship now?”

“You may,” Hyd says, “She’s Wave Singer, the mosaic one.”

Dylan gives him a smile and a wave of acknowledgement before turning to the main dock. He saw Wave Singer before, and the ship stuck in his mind as an oddity on the dock. It is certainly a mosaic, as its hull is covered in hundreds of thousands of pieces of sea glass. They’re every color imaginable, even ones Dylan hasn’t ever heard of being found: green, white, brown, blue, purple, red, yellow, gray.

Dylan hops into the boat, swaying as it rocks underneath him. It’s like a typical fishing boat, but also not. The decoration encrustment continues on the inside of the boat, but it’s no longer sea glass. Instead, it’s sand dollars, bones, scales, shells, and other things Dylan can’t determine the origin of. The sail has feathers and nuts sewn to the bottom of it.

Dylan drops his pack on the deck of the Wave Singer, near the dock so potential thieves won’t see it on a passing glance. There isn’t much of a ship to poke around, but Dylan doesn’t want to spend any more time on the dock. Docks are full of travelers, and the wrong traveler could recognize him.

Dylan settles down with his wooden whistle.

Hyd leaps into the boat a few hours later, just before sunset. “Sit here.” He says brusquely, gesturing to the wall right in front of the tiny cabin “Do not move. I do not need your help.”

Dylan sits. He watches carefully as Hyd brings them out of the port and under way. The boat continues for quite a ways from the port, sailing elegantly over the waves like a fanciful bird. They stop far enough out that land is barely more than a speck on the horizon.

Dylan has been on many boats before, from clunky river rafts to sleek pirate ships, and he’s never seen a ship handle so smoothly. Not only that, but a one-man fishing boat of this size so far from land and so long past sunset would be a difficult craft to control. Hyd handles it just fine, though, with only the occasional tug on a rope or twist of the steering wheel.

“I am fishing here.” Hyd tells him, “It will be a while. When I am done, I will take you on.”

Dylan nods his thanks and pulls the whistle from his bag. Hyd casts nets and sets a few lines with bait that Dylan doesn’t recognize. Even the ropes of his nets are woven of a strange black-and-white fiber that Dylan hasn’t ever seen before.

Hyd settles onto the deck after all his nets are cast, watching the moon rise. There’s a long span of silence, then Hyd glances at Dylan’s work, which by now looks mostly like a whistle.

“You a sorcerer?” Hyd asks bluntly.

“Of a sort.” Dylan says, peeling a slice off his whistle, “I appreciate a good bit of magic every now and again.”

Hyd grunts, then heaves himself up to check the lines and nets. Dylan keeps carving his whistle, but he keeps an ear trained on Hyd. Most people that aren’t from Nimbus couldn’t tell a burglar from a serial killer, but the combination of magic-craft and a convict’s brand leads some to make a very deadly connection.

Hyd is apparently not bright enough to put it together, or smart enough to not let on that he has. Either way is fine with Dylan, as long as he keeps up the façade for long enough.

Hyd knows too much now. Luckily, Dylan knows all he needs about how to sail the fisherman’s boat, and he’s never had qualms about murder.

Dylan stows the whistle in his bag, then draws a different whistle out of it. The one he had been carving was small and weak, a simple thing for starting fires and lighting torches without the need of flint and steel. The one he draws is a war whistle, though its really more of a flute than a whistle. It’s long and sleek, made of a silver tube with grenadilla keys that form a striking contrast.

It takes Dylan an instant to position his hands, fingers falling into place instinctively after years of practice. The first note he plays seems to still the night air, freezing everything in place. Everything except Hyd.

The fisherman startles, spinning around from where he’d been bent over the wale. Dylan doesn’t pause his attack, and Hyd, too, begins to slow down. Only a few measures in, the world is entirely still, with only Dylan’s music breaking the silence.

The wind doesn’t blow, the boat doesn’t rock, and the fisherman doesn’t move from his half-lunged position, even his eyes frozen wide in shock.

Dylan stops playing. The wind slowly picks back up, but just as it took Hyd longer to slow down, it will take him longer to regain his speed. Dylan has a knife drawn and raised to slice Hyd’s throat before the man can take a single step.

The knife bounces off.

Dylan stares at the kife for a solid moment, baffled. It’s a moment too long.

Hyd – not as slow to recover as he had seemed – lunges forward.

Dylan raises an arm over his face and finds it abruptly lacerated by the razor-sharp talons that sprout from Hyd’s fingers. The fisherman’s eyes – initially a queer blue gray – have gone a pale, glowing gray with tiny, slit pupils.

Dylan barely ducks under a snap of rows upon rows of serrated teeth and scrambles for his war whistle.

Hyd screams. It’s a sound like shattering glaciers and too-close lightning, drowning out every sound Dylan makes and replacing the stillness with roiling waves and gale force winds.

Dylan stumbles on the bucking, lurching deck. Clouds swirl overhead in mere seconds, and rain bristles from them in pounding sheets. Dylan can’t see, and his balance is completely shot on the suddenly wild boat.

Hyd pauses to take a breath and Dylan hears what’s truly bringing the chaos. A trio of voices, too perfect to be human, singing a wordless, winding song. Mermaids.

Dylan doesn’t get more than an instant to give his realization, as just as quickly as Hyd stops screaming he lunges forward again. Dylan’s hand drops to the deck, war whistle still clutched in detached fingers. Dylan’s body rapidly follows it, and his head a second later.

–––

Hidden-depths-of-cold-waters rides his ship through perfectly gentle waves, the deck stained with only the faintest traces of blood. His nets are empty and his lines untouched, but he had half expected that when he accepted the magical stranger onto his craft. The ahuizotl and makara he hunts normally would cause far less trouble than a warlock. Better to be done with the later before going after the former.

Hidden-depths-of-cold-waters will make a profit today anyway. The warlock’s war whistle is only one of almost half a dozen high-end whistles he had stowed in his bag. Each will bring Hidden-depths-of-cold-waters more than he could have gotten from a week’s worth of hunting, and that’s without the bounty the warlock no doubt had on his head.

Spray, Froth, and Crest leave him as he nears the port, and Hidden-depths-of-cold-waters steers under his own power without their songs to carry his little ship. He has had a great deal of practice, though, and Wave Singer glides to port as effortlessly as if she had carried herself.

Mermaids are not often friends to sirens, the two having a rather predatory relationship, but Hidden-depths-of-cold-waters could admit – and his three friends would very much agree – that arrangements could be made. After all, they got their human corpses to eat or trade, and he got enough gold to last him a lifetime on a yearly basis.

#mermaids #sirens #magic #detached head #tw: death #canibalism #I guess?#writing #my writing

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traashgremlin · 27 days

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POV: You've angered them and now they're going to show their true horror God being that they are but you think you're hallucinating it all

[Picture]: my original character with a detaching head with some kind of oozing moving tendrils attaching it to the base of the neck. There are also tendrils going out of the clothes by the hand that is point up. The messy background of the word bubble to indicate otherworldly voice

Written in text : Ah, you want to learn the hard way?

#drawing #art #sketch #digital art #my art #artist #artists on tumblr #psychologist #psycho #psychology #horror #detached head #psychological horror #oc #oc art #oc artwork #mbti intj #intj

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whyamisposts · 1 year

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Praying for detachment from all things that no longer serve my best interest 🙏🏽

#praying #mentally fucked #mental health #detached head

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becca-e-barnes · 11 months

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Sub Bucky and a breeding kink 💀 dead unlived it's one of my favourite things 😌

This is pretty high up there on my list of dream fantasies 🥵 these are two of my biggest weaknesses, don't even look at me rn

One of life's greatest joys is cuddling with the other person's head resting on your chest so you can play with their hair and rub their shoulders. I love that shit, having someone else's body weight on you is so comforting.

I imagine that's something Bucky would really enjoy too. It's so soft and sweet and tender and getting to feel cared for would really appeal to him.

But that's up until his hands work their way under your top, up over your bare skin so he's able to cup your breasts and bury his face between them while he's getting his hair played with. Life's pleasures don't get much simpler than that.

After a few moments he shifts slightly, tugging the neckline of your shirt out of the way to give himself space to kiss and nip your skin. All of a sudden he's desperate and it's beautiful to watch.

"Please." He whispers between frantic kisses, flicking his tongue over the stiff peak of your nipple before engulfing it with his warm, eager mouth.

"Please, what?" You tease, tugging on his hair just a little for emphasis.

He groans, frustrated by his own lack of coherence, pulling his mouth from your nipple. "Please let me put a baby in you."

That's not what you were expecting but fuck, he makes it sound pretty appealing.

"Bucky-" You begin but he cuts you off, giving your other nipple the same attention as he gave the first. God, that's distracting.

"You'd make. Such. A pretty. Mommy." He whispers, kissing his way down your body until he reaches the bottom seam of your top. From there, he pulls it off, letting it fall to the floor before removing the rest of your clothes.

"You'd look so pretty with a little baby bump." His huge hand rests on your bare tummy, imaging how your body would change.

"I want it, Buck." You mean it too. It doesn't sound like such a bad idea when he's taking his clothes off.

"I know you want it." He groans, rubbing the tip of his dick against your soaked core. "Y-you're so wet."

He presses his hips forward, sliding inside you and you can't explain it but you swear it feels different this time.

"Don't even think about pulling out." You cup his face in your hands, keeping his eyes on you and you almost worry he's going to fuck himself senseless into you. "I want you to make me a mommy. You're going to give me every single drop of cum and when it starts to drip out of me, you're going to fuck it back in."

His head falls onto your shoulder, sobbing a pathetic moan against your already hot skin. The pace of his thrusts matches his need, his hips slamming into yours and when he finally gives in, he cums inside you with your legs clamped around his waist, making sure he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to.

#asks answered <3 #becca writes spice #anon #sub!bucky #subby bucky #this is one of those fantasies that's nice in my head #I think I'd like to be at that point in my life but it's absolutely not where I'm at rn #maybe some day tho #I started writing a new series yesterday #making a lil moodboard #excited to post the concept #can't decide if I want each chapter to feel like a continuation of the one before #or if I want the chapters to be more detached from each other with time passing in between #might actually space it out over a weekend?#I took my lil granny out for lunch today and she's just the cutest #she usually comes up to ours for Sunday lunch but my parents were out this weekend #so I made her dinner last night and took it down to her and I asked if she wanted to go out for Sunday lunch for a change #she made me book the table right there in front of her so she'd be able to look forward to it 🥺#I sat with her for over an hour yesterday evening and she smiled nearly the whole time #she's too cute I swear

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nonotnolan · 29 days

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Roommate Rehab

The worst part about coming back to my apartment and seeing my roommate's detached head watching a movie on the couch? Knowing that it meant his body was making a mess somewhere else. My original plans to room with other guys in my major had fallen through, and I ended up stuck sharing a lease with Glenn, a warlock whose sole focus seemed to be working out and getting laid. There was always a thin layer of empty protein shake bottles and dirty dishes on the floor, all of his clothes were flung onto random surfaces in the living room, and the entire room smelled like a dank locker room.

"Dammit, Glenn!" I yelled, trying to be heard over the sound of Netflix. "Your body is making a mess in the kitchen again!"

He just rolled his eyes at me. "Whatever, you know that I like to have me time in the evenings. My body is just taking a break from doing pushups, or something. You're gay, you like the eye candy."

I tried not to let his cheap jab bother me. "More like it's taking a break from jacking off," I muttered. At least it was wearing pants this time. Half the time Glenn's body was wiping its bare ass all over our countertops, rather than just dripping sweat everywhere.

Today, I was not going to be bothered. Today, I had a plan.

"You know, I heard something interesting from our new neighbor Allan," I said, casually slipping off my backpack. "It turns out he's a warlock too. And he mentioned that you should have a lot more control over your detached body than you told me."

Glenn didn't even bother to look over in my direction. "We've been over this, dweeb. I can't stop my body from taking off its clothes if it gets uncomfortable. I bet he's using a different spell or something."

I slowly made my way over to the kitchen, where his body was just lounging around. "Good question. He's right here, so why don't you ask him yourself?" I pulled Allan's head out of my backpack, taking care not to pull his hair too hard. "Or maybe I'll just put his head on your body."

"Don't you fucking dare!" he yelled, trying to scramble his body to its feet. It was too late, though. I lunged forward, placing Allan's head onto Glenn's neck. There was a flash of magic, and now it was Allan in control of Glenn's massive muscles. "You fucking thief! Don't you dare just leave me as a detached head!"

Allan picked up Glenn's head and set him down on the end table. "Calm down. It's selfish jerks like you who give warlocks a bad name. We'll get bored of punishing you... eventually." He sprawled across the couch, and started rubbing his new hands across his bulging abs. "I have to admit, controlling a body like this, I do kind of understand the appeal. I thought we'd give him back his body after a few hours, but maybe I'll keep it for a day or two."

Allan looked over at me with a shit-eating grin. "What do you think, neighbor? Want to help me break in my new body?"

"You know it!" I said, kneeling down to suck on Allan's new, rock hard nipples. "But we're staying out here on the couch. Glenn has been an absolute ass these past several months, and I want him to see everything that we do to his body. I want him to know that it all could have been avoided if he hadn't been such an asshole to me." Allan's fingers ran through my hair as my mouth started to wander down south toward his crotch.

Glenn's head started to scream so loudly that he tipped over sideways. "No! No! Don't you dare! Stop it! No!" He kept yelling as my hand slipped into Allan's waistband and pulled out his stiffening cock.

"Damn, son," Allan said, letting out a low whistle. "That's gotta be... what, seven inches? That settles it, I'm keeping this body for the weekend. Here, let me grab my own body from down the hall." I paused our makeout session to let Allan concentrate, and pretty soon the headless body of a bear let itself into our apartment.

"Absolutely not!" Glenn yelled, as Allan's original body started to slowly unbutton its shirt. "I'd rather stay headless than be stuck piloting that hairy sack of fat!"

Allan just shrugged, his smug grin getting even wider. "Suit yourself," he said, rubbing his chest while I stripped off my clothes. "We'll just have a threesome with my bodies while you watch."

"Hold that thought," I said, grabbing one of Glenn's stray socks from off the floor. Placing one hand on his forehead, I shoved the sock deep into his mouth to gag him. He coughed and sputtered, but the cheap cotton was starting to cling to the inside of his mouth. "I want him to watch, but I'd rather not have to listen to him spew insults."

Allan laughed as he watched Glenn's head trying and failing to spit out the makeshift gag. "Sounds good to me. This is your fantasy, bud, I'm just here to enjoy the ride. How do you want me?"

I paused, weighing pleasure and humiliation as I decided how to fuck my roommate's hot body. It helped that Allan's head was easy on the eyes, of course. "Let's start with a double spoon. Your old body penetrates your new ass, and your new cock penetrates my ass."

"You don't want to dump a load in your roommate's bubble butt?" Allan said, slapping it for emphasis.

"Oh, trust me, that ass is on my list," I said, returning his smile. "But if we've got the whole weekend, I figure I should pace myself."

#male body theft #male body magic #natural body magic #detachable head #detached #detachment #headless male #headless #male body transformation #gay male story

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