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#mirror of the damned

alwaysonthemend · 7 months

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Mirror of the Damned | Fic Announcement

Hello my lovely friends!

I am so very excited to announce that my Pirate!Jake fic will be coming to you all sometime towards the end of October. I've had this story planned out since December of 2022 and I am so excited that it's finally nearing a point where it's ready to be shared.

Here, you'll find a very brief sneak peek of Part I! As of right now, Mirror of the Damned is looking to be around 12 parts so I hope this tides you all over until posting time!

If you would like to be added to this story's tag list, please feel free to comment or send me a message 🤍

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

“Are you going to kill me?” I whisper, the tremble in my voice obvious.

“You said you did not live here.” He responds instead, dragging me roughly towards the door. I fight to keep my balance as he all but lifts my feet from the floor.

“I do not.”

He stops, grip still tight on my arm. He looks at me, waiting for me to continue, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He sighs heavily, eyes rolling backwards at my defiance.

“I do not have time for this. I need something. Now. And your father was the man who had it.”

I weigh my options silently. There is no doubt in my mind that I will most likely be dead before the night is over. There is no mercy in the eyes of this stranger. I can refuse and no doubt he would kill me right here… let me bleed out alone and my body grow cold until it’s found tomorrow morning by an unsuspecting Thomas. Or, I can take him back to that wretched place that I call home and pray that he finds whatever it is that he’s looking for. Maybe then, I could convince him to spare me.

“My father’s things are still in his study. I have not touched them. If he really did possess whatever it is you seek, it would be there.”

Jacob nods once, sheathing his cutlass at last. I sigh in relief.

“And you will take me to it.” It is not a question.

“Yes. I will.”

“And is there anyone there that might get in my way?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“I live alone.”

He hums, and I can feel it as the sound reverberates through his chest.

“I am going to let you go now and you will lead me there." He says lowly. "Try to run…” he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush against my ear. “You’ll be dead before you ever realize I've caught you."

#mirror of the damned #dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #pirate jake kiszka

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neurotraum · 10 months

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that meme with man and mirror and au where Danny for some reason can't turn into a human form perfectly converged in my head

bonus lil silly comic

#damn just realized i drew his hair wrong in the mirror #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanart #digital art #my art

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rui-drawsbox · 6 months

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yall look at my new favorite character

#rui draw smth #reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #its the voice i swear #Door the mirror #this is so damn funny istg

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bulkhummus · 1 month

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What I think is particularly heart breaking about this episode, is that Esteban is immortalizing a memory that Cecil doesn’t get to experience. Esteban knows about his grandfather, because he has heard the story several times before according to Abby, in fact they all just heard it. Cecil is experiencing, second hand, remnants of a memory that slides off of him. It refuses to stick.

There is something so poetic to me about Cecil being a reporter, a journalist, an observer, and doing everything to piece together a story from literal scraps of his own life, only to find its already been written for him. The story has already been told. Cecil doesn’t listen to stories, he tells them. I can think of nothing more infuriating than a story being told and not having a satisfying ending, or an ending that makes sense. Nothing within the story justified the ending. And yet we have seen it before throughout the show.

I am reminded of the episode It Doesn’t Hold Up, where Cecil watches the last few minutes of his comfort film Cat Ballou, changed and different. He has seen the same movie over and over and over again, and now the ending is different. In the drawing Esteban drew in 245, there is a shovel stuck into the dirt, and there is a boy climbing into a tree. In the ending of Cat Ballou, there is a man digging into the base of the tree. Just like in the episode It Sticks With You, when Abby, Cecil and their mother journey into the woods, and Cecil climbs into a tree over and over and over again until he can no longer remember the outing with his husband and son. Just like in Cassettes, when a young Cecil’s story is cut short, in an ending that Cecil refuses to listen to, immortalized on tape.

Just like in Liminal Spaces, when Cecil enters a space that is neither here nor there and is haunted by someone who tells him that he wants Cecil to remember. The very face that Cecil saw in Cat Ballou in It Doesn’t Hold Up. In fact, he tells Cecil he has no choice, before once again, he is pulled from the story.

Cecil’s whole life is one long interrupted narrative. It’s as if he is an old cassette that isn’t rewound all the way before pulled out of the slot and put back on a shelf. The next person to listen to the tape, unknowing, doesn’t realize where they’re starting off is not the beginning. There are things missing. Cecil has gotten so good at forgetting (and justifiably so) — has forgotten how to stop. He’s recording over the same tape over and over again until the tape inside is no longer coherent. I’m thinking, of the sound of a cassette being rewound, and how it could sound very much like how Cecil is often describing owl sounds.

So, how disquieting, to have your own family stare back at you, privy to information about yourself that you do not get to have. Cecil is there, quite literally, to construct a story for his town, but who is there to construct a story for him? A man you used to hate? A sister you aren’t sure you even like? A husband who you have forgotten before? Children who see and hear more than you realize? The listener?

No. Instead he will sit until dawn comes, and be made a fool out of trying to create a story, maybe even a better one, out of scraps of memories.

#my baby girl is in denial okay and thats ok #i think its normal and healthy and good #im having so many thoughts my nbrain is moving a mile a minute #and like this was NOT coherent bc theres so much i want to talk anout but #damn how fucking sad this episode was im onsessed #i lvoe when cecils going through it #it doesnt hold up #Casette #It Sticks with You #Bedtime Story #cat ballou #liminal spaces #go to the mirror #wtnv #welcome to night vale #cecil palmer #wtnv spoilers

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kazutora-kurokawa · 1 month

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TokRev x Insecure!Reader

♡ SFW->NSFW, fem reader, fluff, praise, reader is nervous of intimacy because of her body, oral->fem receiving, mirror sex, riding, breeding kink ♡

Characters: Baji, Kakucho, Takemichi, Sanzu

note: requested by @my-13-reason-why 🩵

edit: added Sanzu

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Baji

🔥 Laughs when you tell him you're insecure about your body because HOW??? WHY???

🔥 In his opinion (which is the right opinion) you're the most beautiful woman he's ever met and some silly insecurities aren't gonna stop him from devouring you

🔥 Eats you out extra slow so he can fully appreciate your body

"You should really see yourself right now cutie, look so fucking perfect ♡"

Kakucho

🩷 Doesn't initiate anything because he's not in any rush, he can wait as long as you need

🩷 When he finds out that you've been hesitant to do stuff with him because of your body he almost loses his marbles

🩷 Decides to fuck you in front of a mirror so that you can see yourself from his perspective

"Don't look away darling, I want you to see how pretty you look for me~"

Takemichi

🍀 Cries because he thinks he caused you to be insecure about yourself

🍀 Showers you in praises because you're absolutely perfect in his eyes

🍀 Let's you ride him so you can set the pace and feel more comfortable

"S-slow down princess, want you to be on top of me for as long as possible~"

Sanzu

🌸 Understands how you feel because he's always been insecure about his scars

🌸 Reassures you that he loves every inch of you, even the parts you don't like

🌸 Breeds you all night to show that he loves you

"F-fuck angel, you look so damn good underneath me, so nice and full ♡"

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

#tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #baji x reader #kakucho x reader #takemichi x reader #baji fluff #kakucho fluff #takemichi fluff #mirror sex with Kakucho would literally be life altering 🫠#Baji's official nickname for reader is cutie at this point 😭 I swear it just fits #Michi's so damn cute and subby 😮‍💨#tokyo revengers smut

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thesoftestmess · 3 months

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i just think post archon quest furina would be a menace once her and neuvillette would be reunited in whatever way. like give it a few years and she'd make inappropriate trial refenceres left and right. Neuvillette would be like "Furina, you can't be eating macaroni day in and day out" and she'd be like "What are you gonna do? sentence me to death?"

#i'm not sure she would but i think she SHOULD #she has the opportunity to be so funny #a small inconvenience happens and she goes /damn. wish i was mirror-me rn/#so many headless jokes #furina #neuvifuri #fari talks fic

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mysteriesmuse · 9 months

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Third Year Katsuki is definetly “too hot to handle.”

And you’re not just saying that in the joking way. Over the years combined with his fiery temper, fierce compassion, and firey explosions he’s also matured incredibly well. Not just his temper and his social skills — which are significantly better than when he started at UA — but also his looks. Katsuki Bakugou the resident badboy (good guy, really) heartthrob of Class 3-A; and let me tell you it’s both a pleasure and a significant amount of confusion to be on the receiving end of his affections. —————

And it happens most often, and most obviously in passings . . . The way he chins at you when you walk into the living room area on your way out to jog. Always those red eyes flickering up from his spot sprawled out on the couch, an arm thrown across the back as he twists and angles his body to look at you, “not bad. g’morning sleeping beauty.” He says, and you know he’s joking and poking fun at you because he’s already been up for a half-hour or so. And him commenting about your appearance is normal bc you used to come down with bed head back in your first year until he started commenting on it. So now you done your hair up in fun little ponytails and boxer braids by your vanity every morning. And the comments always makes you roll your eyes and smile, but your toes are involuntarily curling as you wave and head out the door — he means nothing by it. he wouldn’t. He couldn’t he’s Katsuki and you’re just you. —— It’s the days when you and the girls like to play outside in the grass by the dorm — playful sparing and floating around. Right under his nose because his dorm room balcony is right above the green space. And it’s as the shouts get louder that he peaks his head out (ready to yell at y’all to quiet down) that he sees you sparing again Pink Cheeks. And Katsuki will find his way to the railing and lean down to look at you. “Oi, you’re in trouble now.” And you can hear him. Glancing up and that angelic smirk graces your face as you huff and pin her down. Katsuki always barking out a “HA” or a “Atta’ girl. Better luck next time” depending on how it goes. —— The commentary this man must give from the balcony like it’s his job to help the girls under his balcony train, not just because he came out and got distracting by you being there. Noooooo never. —— It’s how touchy his is when you’re in the room or in the library, especially the library. He knows exactly where to find you. You never see it, but everyone else can watch the way he beelines it straight over to your table after he’s finished collecting the books he needs. Any other table in the place? Not even a glance. No chance because Katsuki is trying to sit next to his favorite girl. And you’re always just a little surprised and manage a startled hello when he silently pulls out a chair and plops down right next to you. Somehow Katsuki — for his size and quality combat boots — manages to tread the tile floors silently when he’s trying to find you. And after he’s plopped himself down it’s always his knee pressed against your leg. Or his elbow bumping into yours, or his fingers brushing against yours when he picks up the pen you’ve dropped or sneaks a snack of yours. And you’d have half the mind to think of taking two bc he seems to be addicted to your chocolate covered pretzels. And he always seems to have an extra of the exact kind of pen you like.

And he always offers to refill your water bottle when you stretch your arms above your head after an hour to go fill it back up. Big hand grabbing his own and swirling around the last inch of water saying he needs to go fill his up too — and instead your water bottle break turns into the two of you walking and chitchatting about your assignments as you take turns in the hall with the one good water bottle dispenser. The rest of the library rap with attention as they watch “the Katsuki” walk around with a girl.

—— OR how friendly he seems to get in the hall. Always stomping or mysteriously gliding through silently as you and the girls gossip. And instead of asking y’all to move like a normal person Katsuki just always bulldozes straight through you. Grumbling something under his breath which tickles the skin on the side of your cheek as he slides right past you. A warm palm on the small of your back and an audible “ ‘cuse me.” Or a fast and furious set of hands around your torso as he picks you up and goes past, setting you back down on your feet. And you’ve started customarily yelling, “ do I even weight anything to you?”

Your hands up and exasperated. You always look perfectly cute and flustered. And Katsuki has the audacity to turn over his shoulder and smirk down at you. Licking his lips before he does so, “nah, it’s like a couple of grapes.” Before the hot headed blonde speeds off to where he was going leaving you with a Katsuki induced butterfly indigestion and Mina just gaping at the interaction.

——

And all the flirting he’s been doing, that you’ve been high-key trying to convince yourself that youre over-analyzing and thinking too much into it. Because COME ON it’s Katsuki freaking Bakugou and he’s literally sooo attractive it’s horrible, like seriously. Now Katsuki’s always saying off-handed comments to you about nearly everything you do. Except this time it’s a cut-and-dry compliment bc he’s moving around the gym behind you as you’re doing some sets with the barbell.

And you’ve only got one earbud in and that’s when you hear him say it. “sexy back.” and you blink bc you don’t think that’s what he said, but Katsuki’s path curls and circles in front of you as you lower the barbell back to your chest. — and oh my god he’s totally checking you out. Ruby red eyes delving straight along your midline and lingering at the sweat dripping between your cleavage from the power sets you’ve been working on.

And it’s your owlish blink that’s got him flickering his eyes back up towards your face. A sheepish look flickering across his usually sharp features. He coughs into his fist, “What? You’ve never heard that compliment before?” And suddenly he’s stepping even closer as he reaches a hand right under your chin to grab the barbell — his natural musk of burnt carmel flinging itself into your senses. “Uh no,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, “can’t say I have.” Katsuki flashes a bright white smile at you. “Can’t believe I’m the first person to tell ya’” he chuckles, breathy. Which is partially a lie. Your knuckles tighten white against the bar; except he’s really the one holding most of the weight now anyways. You voice in your throat supplies you with a choked sound. “ ‘M serious,” he confides, looking into your eyes, “been thinking it everyday since day one.” And he’s been saying it under his breath every time he walks past you because damn the way the muscles of your back perfectly cushion your spine and slim down to that waist of yours has his head spinning and he seriously can’t believe this is the first time you’re hearing it. “Keep up the good work.” he adds. The weight of the bar transferring back into your hands as he saunters off to his next station. The little skip in his step accentuating his small back and tight booty as he walks away from you. And it’s only every waking second for the next few days that your mind is gripping onto the sound of his gravely voice saying “sexy back” and you’d be damned if you let a man get you that worked up over such a silly little compliment, but come on!! It’s the senior king of sexy himself who called you that? What else is a girl supposed to do? and it’s then that you start or consider Katsuki’s really flirting a little more seriously, maybe you should look into what he’s doing just a little more.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #bakugou drabble #bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugou #Oh my gosh #this image is so potent in my mind like 3rd Katsuki evening his head out and being able to sorta kinda flirt like this #Also baby boy being so incredibly whipped and thinking we’re so gorgeous that he has to consciously compliment us every time he walks past #mwah! such a good concept!!#also inspired bc I saw my back in the mirror at the gym today and I don’t like a lot of how my body looks but damn!#ig it’s the parts we don’t see about ourselves that we feel confident in. So lesson learned #be more confident girlies!!

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calethescammer · 8 months

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Tcf brain rot time :)

Ok so Cale as Krs never had any parental figures, and neither did Og Cale. So what if, some random day, Cale and his family go for an outing, just a small walk around the shops.

And somewhere in between, Cale stops in his tracks. His gaze lingers on the mother-son duo walking alongside a sweet shop, smiling and giggling all the while. His family watches Cale's blank gaze, with a hint of longing and sadness in it.

Cale continues walking like nothing happened. Ron thinks of the young child who had faced grief at an age of laughter and happiness, and Choi Han thought of Rok Soo's past, with just his abusive uncle as his guardian.

Raon, On and Hong shifted closer to the redhead, trying to comfort him even if they didn't know what was wrong.

And now just imagine the angst. Like maybe Alberu or Eruhaben notice it too, how he sometimes smiles sadly seeing kids run around with their parents, or how his gaze turns empty as he tries to numb down his emotions.

And so, to comfort the redhead as far as they can, they decide to shower him with love. While Deruth increased the number of head pats, Violan frequently had tea with Cale, asking about his interests, hobbies and giving him small unnoticeable compliments in between, which Cale very well noticed.

Ron served him sweet tea more often, Eruhaben and Rosalyn helped him talk out his concerns, majorly of ongoing wars and safety reasons, and Choi Han was the best suited to talk about his previous life, which Cale was very reluctant to share.

Alberu, being the Alberu he was, did what he felt would be best for Cale:

Cale and Alberu stared at each other, the latter smiling more brightly than ever.

"Your Highness."

"Hyung."

"Yes, hyung-nim. Can you tell me what this is?"

Cale pointed towards the table.

Alberu smiled more brightly and Cale almost heard him giggle softly, before covering it up with a cough.

"This, my dear dongsaeng, is a golden plaque."

Cale stared at him with the most deadpan expression.

"What do you want me to do now?"

Alberu just sat speechless, his face crumbling and smiling all together.

Eventually, he managed to convince Cale, telling him that a King needed to be benevolent, and that Cale had done more than enough to be rewarded a golden plaque. Not that Cale believed any of that bullshit, but well, free money should not be refused.

Aside from that, the kids brought him various flowers and Rosalyn helped in decorating Cale's hair with them.

'Why is everyone acting so weird?'

Cale thought, trying to ignore the warm feeling in his chest and his slight smile at the flower crown the kids had made.

#this guy is so damn clueless like go see in the mirror how wide you are smiling #fluff just so much fluff #violan tries to be such a good mother honestly #sobs #this family is adorable i just can't #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #cale henituse #tcf novel #kim rok soo #tcf prompt #tcf fluff #tcf angst

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alwaysonthemend · 7 months

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Author's Note: Hello hello! She's finally here and I am SO very excited for you all to read! As I mentioned before, this story will most likely be around 12 parts and I will be updating with a new chapter every other week. I hope ya'll enjoy!

Finally, without further adieu!

----------------------

Part I: Into the Storm

Word Count: 5081

Warnings: Threats of violence / death of family members (in the past, non graphic)

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Whence they come and whence they go

Ere ever the waves dance to and fro.

‘Cross cold grey stones and empty shore,

Ne’er rest or break since days of yore.

And from the depths a face doth creep,

Pallid and haggard from the deep.

And as I watch out on the sea,

I beg you please: come home to me.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

July, 1709

The pitter patter of tiny feet slapping against the wooden floorboards breaks through the silence of the room.

“Get back here!” A voice calls angrily, followed shortly by the sound of heavy footfalls.

There is no answer other than laughter – a child’s laughter, as the chase continues. The girl – no older than eight or nine years old, runs past the doorway towards the balcony overlooking the town below. She skids to a stop at the railing, wide eyes staring down at the drop. Trapped and with nowhere to go, she turns to face her father with a guilty smile.

“Give it to me.” Her father demands, stepping out to meet her on the balcony. He’s angry, though her young mind has yet to place the seriousness of his tone.

“But Papa-”

“Now.” He silences her, thrusting his hand outwards towards her tiny frame.

Hanging her head in defeat, the young girl brings her hand out from behind her back, a thick, old volume clutched between her tiny fingers. Mercilessly, her father yanks the book from her grasp, an angry huff escaping him at the sight of her face contorted in anger.

“These,” her father seethes, waving the book about in his grip, “are not stories meant for children. Especially not for a young lady. Do you understand me?”

The girl huffs a breath, jutting her bottom lip outwards as she looks up to her father. Though he towers over her, there is a challenge in her eyes.

“Why am I not allowed to read them? They are just stories, Papa!”

He shakes his head at her, disappointment clear on his face.

“Stories that are not good for young girls like you. You are far too impressionable. Pirates and adventures are not the subjects on which you should spend your time. You would be much better suited towards placing your focus on your own lessons – instead of mucking about like a heathen.”

The girl rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in challenge. The fire in her eyes has not dimmed at his words – but rather seems to have only grown brighter.

“Papa, I do focus on my classes. But I do not see why I should not be allowed to read such stories in my own time for my own amusement. It harms no one!” She does not stutter as she speaks, clearly a rehearsed argument.

“Enough!” Her father’s voice rises – his own frustration at her growing by the second. “I will not tell you again, Y/n: stop it with these stupid stories of pirates raids and mystical creatures. Piracy is nothing to be sneezed at or enjoyed – especially not by any daughter of mine.”

As he speaks, the girl turns to walk back inside, pointedly refusing to meet his gaze. Her steps fall heavy as she purposefully stomps her feet as she walks past him.

Fast as lightning, his rough hand darts out to grip her bicep – thick fingers wrapping around the delicate skin harshly. Without warning, he yanks her towards him, bringing their faces just inches apart.

“Listen to me, girl.” He mutters lowly, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Any more trouble from you… and you will wish that you had listened to me the first time.” There is a warning in his voice now, unspoken but so very clear. He is no longer asking. She knows what punishment lies in wait for her. It’s a punishment she’s received before that she’s not eager to experience again.

“Yes, Papa.”

“We are finished here.” He releases her, turning on his heel to stride back inside.

The girl frowns as she rubs where his fingertips had pressed into her skin. A sigh escapes her. Her shoulders droop in defeat. It is not the first time that she has been ridiculed by her father, though she’s growing old enough now that it is no longer taken lightly as it used to be. She is old enough to know better now – and her father’s anger only grows with each passing day. She hates it here.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

November, 1720

Easthallow is not a town of splendour – at least, not anymore. What used to be a prospering fishing town now reduced to nothing but a washed up port city, forgotten by the rest of the world. The town has fallen into disrepair, and its people are too tired to fix it.

The house is perched not so far from the cliffs of Tunstead and sits ominously atop the hill. It’s less of a house and more of a fortress. A fortified conglomeration of walls that only vaguely resemble something that could be considered a home. The Calloway mansion had fallen into disrepair, just as Easthallow had. Though, it cannot be said that the two are not connected. The Calloways had long been the sole proprietors of wealth for the sleepy little port town, and their wealth and influence had extended far across the waters, pulling in merchant ships and trade that made this little town boom into a home of bustling commerce. No one knew where the Calloway fortune had come from for sure – but most had their guesses that it had not come from a place savoury in nature. There was no doubt that the wealth of the Calloways came from their dealings with royals in the North, though no one was ever brave enough to ask them for proof. The people of Easthallow were more than willing to turn a blind eye to the dealings of the Calloways, and took pleasure instead in the fruits of their (most likely) illegal business.

But as the years went by, season after season of wealth and commerce, the Calloway fortune slowly began to run out. Their ships, once seemingly blessed with good fortune, began to sink on a regular basis. Old friendships (borne of blackmail, surely, but strong nonetheless) fell apart, leaving the Calloways to slowly rack up more and more debt until at last, the family fortune ran out. The masses of servants that tended to the mansion were let go, until finally there only resided a small number of Calloways left inside it, withering away alongside their fortune.

And now, all that lies within this rotting fortress of ill-gotten wealth, is my grandmother – the ageing matriarch of the Calloway empire, and myself. It’s sad, really, to think about what my family once was – but in a detached sort of way. My mother had died of fever when I was just three weeks old and my father had been a brute, driven mad by grief and loneliness. He was never home, constantly sailing off to… somewhere. He never told us. He died at sea and I didn’t even cry. And then it was just me and my grandmother in this God-forsaken house, surrounded by the ghosts of a past that I didn’t know. The mystical nature of my Calloway family history had kept my young mind intrigued for a time, but it had quickly dwindled with age. I know only as much as the rest of this town knows, as my grandmother had never been willing to tell me anything of my family history. I had given up years ago.

Instead, I spent my time in our library, content to busy myself in the stories buried within the thousands of pages – focusing my attention onto tales of magic and sea-faring adventures instead. I am not sure if it was the boredom, or some lingering resentment that I carried for my father that made me love them so. Either way, I was content – content in becoming a recluse as a child, content to sit with my books alone. My grandmother, I think, was simply grateful that I left her alone. There is no small bit of resentment in the old woman towards me – the very last Calloway. I know that, had I been a boy, she would have at least been comforted in that the Calloway name would be carried on after her death.

Though I still owe the woman much – as she taught me everything I know. But I am no fool; had my mother birthed a boy before she had me, I am sure that my grandmother would never have even so much as looked in my direction. But since I am all that there is, she taught me much in my youth. She taught me how to read the coded letters that my ancestors had left behind, and how to steer a ship, and how to travel following only the stars. All things that proper Calloways had to know back in their days of seafaring.

And as age continued to ravage her frail body, I know that she regretted not having been more affectionate with me as a child.

Grandmother died on my 20th birthday, and I had cried empty tears as I watched her casket be lowered into the ground. I think my sadness had been borne more of guilt than sorrow – what type of granddaughter was I to not be heartbroken over my last relative’s death?

–

The Golden Perch is a small, humble tavern just a five minute walk from the port. The earnings are meagre and the patrons rude but it is all I have to call my own. Thomas, the owner, had been the only one kind enough to offer a Calloway a job, and I had jumped on the opportunity. Bar work, though nothing glorious, gave me purpose at least. When the books ran out, when I read and reread them enough that I could no longer stand them, I needed something else to take up my time. And The Golden Perch had given me that.

Tonight, only a few patrons have braved the storm outside. Thunder rattles the dinghy wooden walls, the fire in the fireplace dwindles with each gust of wind from the chimney, and I am hopeful that I might get to close up early tonight. Thomas had gone home hours ago, leaving the tavern solely to me for the rest of the night.

The quiet murmuring of the patrons is interrupted by the slam of the front door, and all eyes turn to the threshold at the loud entrance. The storm outside rages on, and the cold wind entering the open door plunges the room into a damp chill. The fire flickers pathetically.

“Everyone on the floor!”

A deep voice cuts through the confused whispering and a man steps in from the chaos of the night. The tone of his voice leaves no space for argument, and the patrons all lower themselves slowly to the ground.

But I cannot move. I am rooted to the spot as my eyes take in the stranger and his men as they march into the small tavern.

Five men disperse themselves throughout the room, each of them drawing cutlasses from their waists and holding them out menacingly towards the tired, terrified fishermen who sit huddled on the floor.

The sixth man, clearly the leader, strides quickly across the room until he reaches the bar. He’s clad in black pants and a white billowy shirt unbuttoned down to his naval, covered from the storm by a long black coat that almost touches the floor. He’s got long brown hair that’s tied back by a black ribbon, and several expensive looking silver medallions rest against his chest. The golden handle of his cutlass glitters at his waist thanks to the light from the fire.

His face, despite the fear coursing through me, brings heat to my cheeks. His eyes are a deep brown and his lips are pink and plump looking. His jawline and nose are sharp, accentuated by the dim light. His tan skin is unmarred, save for a thin white scar starting at his hairline, cutting through his eyebrow, and ending just on the outer corner of his eye. It must have been lucky that the cut hadn’t taken his eye.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I will the tremor in my voice to subside as I raise my chin in defiance at him – hoping to give him the impression that I’m not afraid.

The man extends his arm outwards, splaying his palm against the bartop and tapping his fingers against the wood.

“My name is none of your concern.. And I’m looking for someone.” He says lowly, eyes glittering dangerously at me from beneath his thick lashes.

“And who might that be?”

He inhales sharply through his nose, straightening himself and pulling his hand from the bar top to rest it on the handle of his cutlass. Everything about him screams authority.

“Calloway.” He finally answers, and the air punches itself from my lungs. I fight to keep my expression steady as my heart pounds in my chest so hard I’m sure he must be able to hear it.

“Never heard of ‘em.” I lie, placing my hands on my hips to hide the way that they shake. “Must be in the wrong town.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, lass.” He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth. “You see…” He starts, drawing his cutlass from its sheath and brandishing it proudly in front of him. “I need something from Edward Calloway, and I’m not leaving here until I get it.”

This time, I know that I fail in keeping my expression passive at the mention of my father’s name. Surely enough, his smile widens.

“Oh? So you do know of Edward Calloway." He hums, a sinister look spreading across his face. "You're going to tell me where he is, my good lady… or my men kill everyone in this room.”

At that, the other patrons all begin to panic, frenzied whispers breaking out amongst themselves as the other men step even closer to them, their blades gleaming dangerously.

“He’s dead. Edward Calloway is dead. Has been for a long time. There aren’t any Calloways left anymore.” I tell him, and I revel in the slight slump to his shoulders. He hadn’t been expecting that.

One of his men, a man with light brown curly hair, turns to look at his leader, his eyes carrying in them a silent question. The two stare at each other for a moment, seemingly carrying on a conversation without words. Finally, the leader steps towards the door.

“Kill them all.”

“What?” The curly headed man asks with wide eyes. He looks horrified.

“Did I stutter?”

“Wait!” One of the fishermen shouts, causing a blade to be pressed into his neck. “She's a Calloway!” He says frantically, pointing towards me with an accusing finger. "She's Edward Calloway's daughter!'' He says it like it's an insult, spittle flying from his lips as he points at me.

Dread overtakes me like ice water being dumped over my head, but I cannot blame the man. Old sins cast long shadows after all, and no one in this town would be willing to give up their lives for a Calloway.

The leader turns on his heel, a menacing expression on his face. I feel as though I’m nothing but a small animal, cowering in the face of its predator. He rounds the bar top, gripping my bicep in his hand and squeezing tightly. I can’t help but to wince as his fingertips press into my skin harshly. He leans in close, so close that his lips just barely graze the shell of my ear.

“That true, lass?” He asks, pressing the blade of his cutlass into the skin of my neck.

I swallow and nod, body trembling in his hold.

“And you live here?” He asks again, nodding his head towards the stairway that goes upstairs. It’s a vacant room though, reserved only for patrons that are too drunk to make it home.

“No.” I whisper. “Not far from here, though.”

He nods, tightening his grip on my arm even more before turning to the curly haired man again.

“Joshua, return to the ship. Wait for me there.”

Another man, this one with long brown hair that reaches all the way down to the middle of his back, speaks up.

“You’re not going alone. Have you lost your mind?”

“Jacob, you're being reckless. This isn't-” Joshua speaks up, pinning his leader (apparently named Jacob) with a fiery expression.

“Enough! My brothers the two of you may be, but I am still your captain. You will not question me.”

The rest of his men only look on in silence, eyes darting between the three men as they stare at each other. Finally, Joshua’s shoulders drop in defeat. He keeps his cutlass drawn but lowers it, the rest of the men following suit.

“The rest of you,” Jacob orders, scanning his eyes across the terrified faces of the fishermen, “Get lost. You never saw us. We were never here.”

They all clamour to their feet, tripping over themselves in their bid to get out the door. The storm outside has finally died down to nothing but light rain, and each of them scatter our into the darkness like mice abandoning ship. Jacob’s men follow after them, Joshua stopping to look over his shoulder one last time before stepping out into the night, leaving you alone with their captain.

“Are you going to kill me?” I whisper, the tremble in my voice obvious.

“Not yet." He whispers. "You said you did not live here.” He says, voice growing louder as he drags me roughly towards the door. I fight to keep my balance as he all but lifts my feet from the floor.

“I do not.”

He stops, grip still tight on my arm. He looks at me, waiting for me to continue, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He sighs heavily, eyes rolling backwards at my defiance.

“I do not have time for this. I need something. Now. And your father was the man who had it.”

“My father’s things are still in his study. I have not touched them. If he really did possess whatever it is you seek, it would be there.”

Jacob nods once, sheathing his cutlass at last. I sigh in relief.

“And you will take me to it.” It is not a question, more a demand that he’s phrasing nicely.

“Yes. I will.”

“And is there anyone there that might get in my way?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“I live alone.”

He hums, and I can feel it as the sound reverberates through his chest.

“I am going to let you go now and you will lead me there. Try to run…” he warns, lips once again pressed against my ear, “You’ll be dead before you even realize that I've caught you.”

I nod.

He releases his grip and I bring my hand up to rub where he’d been holding me so tightly. I know that it will bruise. A brief flicker of… something, flashes through his eyes at the action before his expression smooths over, once again becoming blank as he waits for me. The rain has stopped but night has fully fallen. I reach upwards and grab one of the lit lanterns from above the bar top, holding it aloft in front of me as I lead us out into the night.

–

I watch out of the corner of my eye as his gaze sweeps upwards, taking in the rotting fortress as we ascend the steps. Though my last name may be Calloway, I have never felt any sort of ownership over this house – it has always been, simply, the place that I must stay. I have never felt embarrassed at its disrepair before, but as I watch Jacob’s eyes scan this terrible place, shame begins to pool deep in my belly. I hate the feeling.

“You never told me your name.” His voice startles me from my shame-filled thoughts and I cut my eyes to him quickly.

“You would not give me yours.”

His lips quirk into a smile.

“And yet you still learned it anyway. It seems only fair that I know yours in return.”

“Y/n.” It slips past my lips with hardly a second thought and I curse myself for giving it to him. I cannot say why I told him, only that I felt powerless to deny him.

“Y/n.” He repeats, and the sound of my name from his lips sends a shiver down my spine.

The front door creaks as I open it, making me cringe slightly at the loud sound. We step through the threshold, and immediately the cold dampness of the house envelopes us.

“Lovely place.” Jacob says with a grin but I don’t glorify him with a response. Instead, I begin to ascend the ornate staircase that leads to the second floor.

“You live here alone?” He asks, following behind me closely.

“Yes. My grandmother died this past spring. We’re the only ones in the family left.” I tell him as we reach the top.

“Hardly a place for a young woman to live alone.”

I scoff at him, leading him down the winding hallways. It angers me the way he says it, as if he truly is concerned. As if he has not just threatened my life.

“Why do you care?” I snark, stopping in front of the mahogany door that leads into my father’s study. I had not stepped foot into the place since his death all those years ago.

“I don’t.” He says coldly.

I nod once and push open the heavy door.

Immediately, my nose is assaulted by the dust that floats through the air. Every surface is covered, and I fight the cough that tries to claw its way from my throat. I step forward and enter the room fully, holding the lantern up so I can see his old desk. It’s a massive thing – taking up a whole corner of the small study. It’s expensive, that I know – imported from somewhere overseas. I was never allowed to touch it as a child. I place the lantern onto it before jumping upwards to sit (enjoying the small bit of satisfaction that the action gives me, even though my father is not here to see me do it).

Jacob rounds the corner of the desk, pulling the drawers open and beginning to rummage through. Little bits of his hair have fallen out from where he has it tied back, and the way they frame his face makes him seem softer somehow.

“And what exactly are you looking for?” I ask him, sliding the lantern closer to the edge of the desk so that he can see better.

“Directions.” He supplies, not looking up from his task.

“To what?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Okay.” I sigh. “Why did my father have it?”

Finally, Jacob stills his movements and looks up, appraising me silently.

“He traded a lot of money for it. It took me a long time to track it down.” He finally answers, looking back downwards to continue his rummaging. “Your father was involved with some dangerous people.”

“I wouldn’t know. I know nothing of my family.”

It’s silent between us for a long moment, broken only by the sounds of him pulling open drawers and searching through papers. After what seems like forever, he finally throws his hands up in defeat.

“God damn it!” He exclaims, and I startle.

He falls into my father’s chair, chest heaving as his eyes frantically scan the desk. The desk is bare except for a few sheets of paper covered in my father’s lilting handwriting, an accounts notebook, and his reading glasses. The drawers have been completely searched through on both sides.

“It’s not here.” He sighs, shoulders dropping as he places his head in his hands. A distant feeling of fear still thrums through my bloodstream, but I cannot help the sympathy that flows through me at the sight. He just looks so… sad.

“I am sorry.” I tell him, and I am shocked to find that I mean it, somehow.

He looks upwards at the sound of my sincerity. His dark eyes have pooled with unshed tears that glisten in the light of the lantern and I am struck suddenly with the desire to reach out and touch him – to comfort him somehow. His pain seems to radiate from him, enveloping me in a blanket of misery.

“It is what it is.” The sorrow in his voice causes a dull ache to thrum in my sternum.

I glance around, desperately trying to find somewhere else that my father might have hidden something important. The walls are covered in old paintings – family members that I never met and don’t even know the names of. A bookcase sits off to the side, but it is empty. My grandmother had taken the books and placed them in the library downstairs years ago. There would be no way to know which ones had been kept here by my father before. The fireplace, filled with old, dusty ashes sits barren and cavernous. There is a cracked leather armchair in front of it and nothing else. I look upwards to the mantle, decorated only by a round mirror with gold accents and a framed painting of my mother.

I pause.

Grabbing the lantern, I rise and walk slowly over to the mantle. I grab the picture frame and bring it back to my father’s desk, noting the way that Jacob’s eyes track my every movement. Placing the lantern down, I turn the frame over and take the back off. The painting of my mother flutters out and lands on his desk, along with a yellowed, folded up stack of papers that had been tucked behind the picture.

Jacob reaches forward, a slight tremble to his hand, and slides it towards him. I watch in rapt attention as he unfolds it and leans in closer to the lantern in order to read the first page. I watch as his expression falls from hopeful to defeated yet again.

“It’s nonsense.” He says angrily, slamming it downwards onto the desk with a loud smack. “Utter nonsense.”

I peer over at it, tilting my head and squinting to read it. My heart rate picks up as I scan the page, brain working tirelessly to try and remember the symbols and patterns.

“It’s not nonsense. It’s in code.”

Jacob catches my gaze with wide eyes, lips slightly parted at my words.

“Can you read it?”

I nod.

“With time.” I tell him, reaching out to grab them. “There’s a lot here and it's been a long time, but I think I could read it.”

“I don’t have a lot of time. I need to leave. By tonight.” He says, tone suddenly demanding as he stands abruptly. “You will translate it. Now.”

I furrow my brows, holding the pages tight to my chest.

“Well you’re going to have to make time. This is not something that can be done right away. If I read them.”

Fast as lightning, Jacob places a palm in the middle of the desk and lunges across it, using his body weight to shove me backwards and slam my back into the wall. I keep the papers clutched tight to my chest, breath stuttering out as fear overtakes me once again. It’s like a flip was switched – the man standing in front of me now reduced to nothing but a wall of rage and aggression. He presses in close, breathing heavily as his hand reaches upwards to wrap around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but the threat is there, loud and clear.

“You will read it.” He orders, a growl deep in his throat.

“Or what?” I goad him. “You can’t kill me.”

He sighs. He knows I’m right. He moves his hand from my throat and I flinch away from him – afraid that he’s going to strike me.

But he shocks me instead.

His rage is still palpable, and I can tell by the twitch of his fingers that he wants nothing more than to use physical force to get me to obey him, but the fight drains from his tense shoulders as he sinks to his knees at my feet, dark eyes staring up at me in the dim light of the lantern.

“Please.” He whispers.

I know immediately that I cannot deny him. It’s as if my very soul is calling out to him – drawn to him in a way that I cannot begin to understand. It feels like he was meant to find me here, alone in this terrible place – rotting away along with the walls around me. Whether by God or by Fate, he was meant to find me. His sorrow and anger radiate for him in waves, threatening to choke the air from my lungs. He needs this.

Somehow I know that he will not survive it should I deny him. My decision was made from the very moment I first locked eyes with him. I will help him in any way that I can.

“I will help you. But I need time. It cannot be done quickly.”

He nods, staying on his knees as if he’s too tired to rise.

“I understand. But I must leave tonight. The thing that I am seeking… I have only a few weeks to reach it. If not, it will all be for naught.”

His vagueness frustrates me to no end but I understand that I will receive no more from him tonight.

“Do you know at least in which direction you must go from here?”

He nods.

“Then you must take me with you. And I will do my best to translate it as we go. Is that acceptable to you?”

He nods again solemnly, looking up at me from his place at my feet.

“It is.”

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Part 2

Mirror of the Damned taglist:

@jakeyt @joshym @sacredjake @carbondancingthroughtime @literal-dead-leaf @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @aflame4goinghome @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @mysticalstarcatcher @brinlygvf @vanfleeter @chewbeka22 @starcatcherchords @char289

#mirror of the damned #dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #pirate jake kiszka #jake kiszka

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bardengarde · 3 months

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There is something about making an oc and accidentally recognizing some traits you've given them are traits you can relate to

Not even trying to make a self insert and I've done those before, but seeing parts of yourself and things you struggle with and coming to a halt because I Didn't Mean To Do That. Where Do I Go From Here? Do I Continue To Develop This? There's Issues Here I'm Not Ready To Deal With Myself With.

#and it sucks because you want the oc to exist!!!! but its one thing to make an oc and project parts of yourself onto it #to try and work through insecurities and issues and gives yourself some comfort #and an entirely different thing to try to create a character with a good story and suddenly you're looking into a mirror #i won't disclose which oc bc if i post them i don't want people pointing at them and thinking every decision about them relates to me #because they don't and won't #but... damn

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