#ampoti

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ Poseidon's blessings, aren't you a pretty thing ? ❞

flattery, as it would turn out, could get you almost anywhere. he knew - of course - of his own beauty ; an unsuspecting sort, haunting in the way in which not many could put into words of their own for there was no accurate way to describe it. he appears harmless, but that is an act to lure people in - his beauty, the bait. and it was only ever when those that dared to look closer were within his reach that he'd take what was rightfully his.

they never stood a chance, they never knew that they had walked straight into the open maw of something far more terrifying than what their wildest dreams could ever dare to imagine until it was too late, until sharpened teeth tore through flesh like it was nothing, until they choked on their own blood - a plea of sorts, unintelligible as their mouths filled with liquid red.

satisfying in every sense of the word.

and beauty sees beauty, danger recognizes danger when they're poised opposite each other. curious, he thinks. he's never seen anything like this before. " just pretty? " he doesn't pout, the cute look doesn't suit him in the same way that it does others that he spends his time with, so the question is posed as something akin to mock offence, hand clutching his chest but it's clear - even now - that the other has his interest, his attention. what he might plan to do with it, however, was another story entirely.

" ethereal, beautiful, divine-- " blasphemous, in it's own right to have such a descriptor for himself, " all things that i've been called and yet, you settle on pretty. though, i suppose. . . " his voice trails off for a moment, unashamed in the way that his gaze lingers on the other - appreciation at it's finest. " i suppose, i'm feeling generous. a second chance, because i know you can do better than that. "

Untitled Headcanon Questions. 𓂃｡⋆ ✧🪞 ↬ @ampoti

I hope this makes sense but I def. wanna say it would be in a true confessional / devotional / surrendering type of way. The best way I can put it in terms of a frame of reference is . . . you know when, in POTC, Ragetti whispers into Calypso's ears "I release you from your human bonds"? And they had to get the exact tone right ("spoken as if to a lover")? And it sounded like a secret?

That way. Like a secret. Like a quiet confession. Like words that're soooo heavy that you're sure it might be the last words you ever say.

A little more specifically:

Saying you love her and truly laying yourself bare before her, with a kind of honesty that comes at the cost of showing her who you truly are; your clearest reflection that you can't hide from. Confessing your fears, the good things you've done, the bad things you've done, your greatest shame, and horrors, and placing all those secrets in her hands as if you're daring her to do something wrong with them. Yielding to her judgment and control and power, knowing full well how awfully she might treat it, and saying something like “Here I am. Wholly unguarded. Do what you will.” anyway.

There’s also a deep need for reassurance — for her to know she belongs with them, and with them alone. Her restlessness makes her crave that certainty, and she would respond to it more than anything else.

This all, btw, goes back to Adella’s whole birthright and magic and connection to the Caspian Sea — the realm of mirrors and promises and lies and truth.

DIM LIGHT, and the soft bubble of tanks' water ; even without the setting of the sun, and moons' rise, he's come to know when the other would arrive.

'Pon catwalks' metal frame, a gift ; TEETH. Seven, of varying shapes, bloodied still, some of them. From where, they had come, the Mer would not say. They're left there, a treasure to find, for one and only to find.

He'd dive below stilled waters, after gift was left behind. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

so regular, were his visits now, that he fears as though he's become predictable in nature. his thoughts were not his own, in a way, the rationale that he needn't visit every night and yet still, he finds himself here, legs with a mind of their own that carry him here each night in anticipation, in eagerness to see him again.

he, that had so effortlessly captivated the demon from the moment he'd laid eyes upon him.

he, who proved time and time again that it was very much mutual.

the teeth in question, so easily missed, almost too easy to step on if one weren't being careful. the scent of blood alone is enough to pique his curiosity, lips curling into a smile as he spots seven of them just laying there. it was no coincidence that he might find them, and as romance sits himself down upon the catwalk, legs dangling over and tempting what lay beneath to pull him under ( or perhaps, to urge him to make himself known ) a clawed hand picks up the bloodiest of the lot to bring to lips.

it would be a shame to let something so precious go to waste, would it not?

he licks it clean, a self-satisfied hum as the taste settles on his palette. foot pointed downward, he kicks the water surface, ripples and small splashes alike that would surely catch his attention.

" are you going to hide away from me all night, or would you rather i thank you properly for such a thoughtful gift? "

@ampoti liked a thing.

" well? did you enjoy your gift? " the gift in question, of course, a demon. ugly little thing, wriggling and writhing around as it had been dragged under the water - but a gift all the same. it had not been kalon's first taste of demon flesh ( ━━ romance, would take the prize for that experience ) but it had been the first that he could savor, enjoy. a meal fit for the gods themselves. " it certainly looks like you did. "

it should come as no surprise that creatures, thought to be nothing more than mere myth, were as real as anything else in this world. xander, though inconspicuous in nature, was proof of that. he hid it well, blended in with the rest of society to the point where no one would ever be able to tell the difference and yet, he still displaced from the world.

neon lights and the regular sounds of city life were too much for overactive senses, overwhelming and bordering on unbearably painful at times. so he finds himself here, a cove of sorts, secluded from the outside world and quiet, save for the gentle breeze and crashing of waves against jagged rocks.

curious, though. he hadn't expected company - more than that, he hadn't expected them to come from the depths themselves. he masks his brief moment of surprise well, expression unshifting even as his visitor swims closer.

⤿ OH   to   wait   and   bid   his   breath   to   stop,   to   bite   his   tongue   and   make   himself   mute;   it   is   a   process   thus   carved   into   his   mind   and   made   permanent   by   the   chisel   of   a   mother’s   words   -   “quiet,   quiet,   until   you   can   speak   like   you   ought   to.”   conscious   thought   that   would   otherwise   be   devoted   to   his   hunger   is   instead   devoted   to   keeping   his   lips   pursed   ito   a   thin   and   tight   line,   eyes   forward   and   gaze   fixed   on   the   ever-expanding   shoreline.    behold   him   now:   a   tattered   cloak   and   eyes   alert,   fish   made   of   stars   and   will   drifting   ‘round   it   with   all   the   enthusiasm   of   funeral   attendees   -   made   lazy   in   their   world-grief,   useless   in   their   hunger.   ‘neath   the   cloak   is   a   dress   of   tattered   blues   and   greens:   he   appears   garbed   in   the   colors   of   torn-about   seafoam,   the   near-black   of   his   hair   the   only   piece   of   dark   among   him. the   shoreline   extends   too   far   for   his   liking,   but   he   does   not   head   inland.   to   go   in   to   the   land   proper   is   to   invite   devastation   upon   himself,   for   he   is   not   the   sort   to   be   tolerated   by   the   spirits   of   man.   he   was   made   false   in   the   image   of   a   dead   girl   who   had   been   dying   ‘cross   six   iterations;   he   was   made   with   tools   so   rancid   and   unloved   that   their   very   nature   defied   the   presumed   admiration   the   gods   had   for   the   brightest   among   them. he   trek   along   the   shore   comes   to   a   slow   stop,   and   he   regards   the   waves   at   the   mouth   of   a   cove-cave.   they   lap   at   stone   and   pieces   of   driftwood,   perhaps   from   some   ship   long   lost. the   koi   that   rotate   him   have   paused   now,   and   regard   the   sea   which   bleeds   into   the   mouth   of   the   cavern.   pasha’s   eyes   narrow,   following   their   gaze.   the   dim   moonlight   makes   a   woeful   time   of   trying   to   make   out   the   finer   details.    with   perhaps   lacking   self-preservation   ( or   a   mere   lack   of   care   for   all   in   general )   he   calls   out   a   bluff,

       ❛    i   know   you’re   watching.   ❜ 

@ampoti liked for a one liner!

“Huh. Didn’t think fish would be on the menu today…”