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Grian sat at his deck, yet again. He'd finally dragged a chair over to his dock to sit while he fished, so he sat there, his line cast out to the water. He watched the ripples in the water, eyes wide, hands nearly shaking. He'd been here for quite a while.There was a tug at his line, and he pulled it up. Another cod. With a small sigh, he tossed it in the barrel and threw his line out again. “All I want is Mending,” he muttered, exasperated. “That's all I'm asking for.”Water leaked onto his dock, getting his shoes wet. He frowned, lifting one foot up. That was odd. Obviously things got wet out here, but the wood was soaked through like it was flooded. He ignored it. Only fish.Something tugged at his line. He reeled it in. It was a book. It was wet, pages soaked through and cover shining with enchantment. He grabbed it off the hook with excitement, not minding the wet paper against his hands as he gingerly yet eagerly opened it.Bane of Arthropods.He stared at the text for a moment, the bleeding ink, and then balled his hands into fists and threw the book back into the water at full force. The water splashed back at him, hitting him in the face and spraying his glasses with water, but he didn't care. “Couldn't have been anything else?” he asked, venting to nobody in particular. “Not silk touch, or protection, or- hell- mending? Couldn't have been anything like that?” He wasn't usually one to lose his temper- but God, this was getting frustrating. He kicked at the water on his deck like a kid throwing a tantrum, and then the sea rippled.The ripple grew bigger, and then bigger, until it was a wave that intimidated Grian enough for even him to back away from the dock, but he didn't get away fast enough before the wave crashed down and swallowed him whole, dragging him down into the water. He'd only barely had time to hold his breath. The water pulled his glasses away and everything blurred. He struggled against the water, wings splaying out in a futile attempt to beat and fly away, but this wasn't their domain, and although the action might have helped him swim, it seemed like there was some living force in the ocean bent on dragging him down. The roar of water in his ears somehow sounded like the word ungrateful.His air was running out. Teary-eyed, he clasped a hand over his mouth and nose to prevent himself from instinctively taking in a lungful of water. The water soaked his clothes all the way through, before the current started tugging at them. It tugged at his pants, and he reached a hand down to grab hold of them, keeping them up. He swore that the water was fighting back- a tug-of-war over his clothing. His fist dug tight into his pants, dread settling in more the more the ocean fought him on it. But eventually, he got lightheaded from the lack of air and loosened his grip, allowing the ocean to yank and strip his bottom half bare. He almost didn't care. The pounding pain in his head was too much to care about anything else. His vision was fading.With a sudden movement, the ocean threw him to the top, allowing him to take in a gasp for breath, and then a few more desperate pants. He took in the air eagerly, swallowing breath after breath as he wondered how he'd ever taken it for granted. It didn't give him much longer before it abruptly pulled him down again, the force of the movement pulling the wind out of his lungs. He shook his head desperately, reaching a hand out to the top, pleading for more air. His hand breached the surface, letting him touch the air, but his head was held just under no matter how much he tried or how much his wings flapped. He pounded a fist against the surface of the water at the unfairness of it, and in return the ocean's pressure increased around him like a constrictor, squeezing more precious air out of him. He sobbed.His vision faded, eyes stinging and eventually shutting. When they opened, he was face-down in a broken-down broken-down ship, cheek pressed into wet and swollen wood, inches away from a crack in the hull that revealed bubbling magma that if he just reached out, he could use to breathe. He inched forward, until he was close enough to breathe in the warm air it gave off. It tasted like ash. The ocean allowed him to breathe- he got the sense it was allowing him rather than simply neglecting to notice- but it did shove his head down, pressing his cheek into the magma and making him whine in pain as it burned him.The water moved around his crotch. I give you so much and still you complain, he felt more than heard the ocean say. The movement made him gasp, an action he could thankfully do without drowning himself. Now you will give to me, it said, and the water quickened, pooling inside his shirt and swirling around his chest, flooding inside of him from below, making him cry out desperately. He shook his head, leaning forward, burning himself on the magma, anything to get away from the sensation, and the ocean only filled him more, saltwater scraping at his insides. It felt wrong in every imaginable way, and yet it made him squirm, forced gasps and pathetic whines out of him.It pushed deep inside him, violated every inch, rushed against his g-spot and made him struggle and whimper. It was a wholly alien experience- the water wasn't one solid shape, it was morphing constantly. Filled him to the brim and rushed more water in to stretch him, not exactly thrusting so much as rushing, moving hard into all his sensitive spots. He lifted his head up so the heat of the magma wouldn't be too much, but he was still dripping sweat along with seawater.The water filled him, making him squeeze his legs together and whine, a pathetic little noise that he was embarrassed of despite the fact that nobody could hear it. But more water was being forced inside him, pumping him full like a goddamn water balloon, and he keened in pain as it pushed past his cervix and poured into his womb, filling him all the way with stinging salt water. He wailed. The water pushed his head back down onto the magma to shut him up. It burned.“Please- p-please, please please,” was all he was able to say, spit dripping from his mouth and evaporating on the magma as he kicked and sobbed. “I'm-” he hiccuped- “I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry please-”The ocean was never known to be merciful. It stopped pumping him full for just a moment, if only because he physically couldn't take any more. There was an anchor lying abandoned by the wreck, rusted enough to be more red than black. The ocean tugged at it with a current. It was heavy, but eventually it was dragged over to the trembling fisher. Grian looked up at it, the heavy chain with jagged rust covering it, and with a pit of dread in his stomach wondered what it'd be used for.His question was answered soon. With another heave, the anchor was dragged close enough for the chain to be wrapped around his neck. It moved slowly, but he didn't have the power to fight it anyway, so he just took in as much breath as he could before the chain closed around him like a leash, also coiling around his arms to hold them behind him like handcuffs. Another sharp yank and he was dragged with it away from the magma block, the warm water around doing little to soothe the burn on his cheek. That was the least of his worries, though. For one, his face was now outside of the air pocket the magma provided, making him wonder with fear when he'd be allowed to breathe again.The second issue was that the rest of his body was being dragged along the magma, sharp rocks scraping him up and the heat cauterizing the wounds, pain that’d make him lightheaded even if he could breathe. Occasionally there'd be a snag, and the ocean would pull hard, ripping his skin along the stone. He lost valuable air screaming. Red seeped into the water. The ocean continued to drag him forward, littering him with scars that'd remain for a while. It moved him so that the burns traveled along his stomach, before reaching down further, further, and he only had a moment to realize with a sharp stab of dread where it was going before his crotch was dragged onto the magma, searing him with pain that made him sob. The water inside him spilled with the movement and turned to hot steam that licked up his body. He was shaking.Now that his cunt was settled onto the blistering magma, the ocean got to work with the rest of him- waiting for him to gasp in pain again before shoving into him, making him retch at the saltwater rubbing into his tongue. He whined as it shoved its way into his throat, rushing water emulating the feeling of what he assumed it'd be like to be roughly throatfucked. How did anyone do that?He shut his eyes and grit his teeth in pain, but the water was already inside him, already capable of making him gag again and again no matter how much he'd try to spit it out. Every thrust into him was another bounce on the magma- mild alleviation from the pain before shoving him back down on it like he was on a grill. He lashed out at the water, desperately- trying to pull away from it, bring himself up and swim despite the uselessness of the attempt- but it only shoved him down harder, pushing his clit into the magma and making him scream. His throat was already raw. He was pretty sure it was bleeding. The chain tightened around his neck, and he stopped fighting, trembling as he tried to force his body to relax. All he could do was take it.The water that surrounded the magma, tinted red with his blood, whirled up and around his face, apparently just a way to toy with him. When he relaxed his jaw, it shot into his mouth, making him taste iron as well as salt. He just sat there. Couldn't do anything else, except fantasize about breaking the anchor. Everything hurt. The only saving grace was that the pain in his crotch was so blinding it'd gone numb already. Still, he couldn't breathe, and rapidly his vision was going dark again.He woke up coughing, rolling over and vomiting water onto the beach. Not his beach. Lighter sand and no dock, but land nonetheless. He finished spitting onto the sand. When he wiped his mouth, his hand came away red. He had been bleeding. The water lapping at his legs was cool- cold, even- and once he was done throwing up it tugged him gently in, making him sob in dread. But all it did was settle around his burns, comforting them slightly. Once the panic settled, Grian relaxed, laying down in the water and attempting to get control of his breathing.He still couldn't see. He'd assumed his blurry vision was a result of pain, but it had lessened by now. He brought a hand to his face, feeling for his glasses, and immediately they washed up onshore, cracked, but wearable. He just folded them and set them safely on the sand for now. “I still need my pants,” he added, with a sharp gasp at how badly it hurt his throat to speak. The ocean was still. Grian took in a breath and braced himself. “Please.”His pants, completely soaked, were tossed up on the beach. His underwear seemed to be lost. “Thank you,” he choked out anyway, fearing another punishment for any ungratefulness. The ocean whirled comfortingly around his waist in response. He sat there for another little while. It couldn't hurt.He fell asleep in the bay, and the water made sure he didn't drift away.