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beanibon · 1 year

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i love your mermaid AU! but what if we switch roles and reader is the water creature. how would the trigun boys react? maybe some nsfw headcanons?

I love this whole mermaid AU coming back, I definitely need to more on it cause I love Mermaid/Siren AUs so much.

TW: interspecies sex, oral (m!receiving/Wolfwood), use of aphrodisiacs (in Knives), creampie, size difference (Vash), breast-fucking (Vash), breeding (Knives), drowning (Knives)

(For Vash I wanted to have the Reader a more Whale Shark build, so they'll be slightly bigger than he is but very docile and sweet)

Vash is definitely the type of guy to go whale watching with mates, pair it with beers and snacks and he'll have the perfect outing on a day off.

The first time he spotted you was when Wolfwood teasingly pushed him overboard, complaining they needed bait to lure anything interesting. Vash arguing with his best friend while still in the water, only to panic as something brushed his leg, pulling him under water. That was when he met a curious mermaid, significantly larger then him, but gentle as they circled him, protecting him with tiger shark that had previously pulled Vash under.

You disappeared the moment Knives pulled Vash out of the water, resulting in screaming match between his brother and best friend. But all Vash could think about was the friendly face that greeted him the moment that suffocating water surrounded him.

After being denied on a boat for weeks from his overprotective brother, Vash eventually managed to return to the exact coordinates he found you, alone this time as watched the waters intensely. It wasn't long until he heard your echoing calls, surfacing to take a closer look.

Vash was mesmerised instantly, watching as you circled his boat with fascination, before pulling your large form onto it. It had Vash panicking at first, but the moment you towered over him all worries disappeared as your dampened hair cascading on either side of him.

Your large form was captivating, yet Vash became increasingly aware of your bare breasts that pressed against his body as your tongue licked his lips, slipping in-between them in a startling kiss.

Needy hands tore Vash's clothes off, leaving him naked for the world to see as you sank your larger body on his.

Vash moaned, hips grinding upwards at your advances. But you pushed him back, shuffling backwards as the boat lurched with your weight, squeezing your breasts over his cock, pumping them up and down.

The entire time Vash was whining, moaning and clawing at the deck of the boat, legs kicking as you worked his cock faster. He was flabbergasted at this sudden advance, but he couldn't stop looking at those patterned breasts, and suddenly this didn't feel so bad.

Vash pulled you into another kiss, moaning against your wet lips. You felt amazing around his cock, not to mention the way you had previously slightly crushed him.

He adored the size difference, enjoying being the weaker of you two as you easily had him whimpering as you squeezed your breasts around his cock.

A final cry had him coming all over your chest, panting as you gave him a praising kiss.

Vash found himself returning more frequently, part of him ashamed that he fucked a mermaid on a regular, but the moment he saw your beautiful form nuzzling into him those worries were swept away as he indulged in you yet again. Falling in love a little harder each time.

(Wolfwood works at a shark observatory, Reader is more so based of a flying fish who accidentally got stuck in bull sharks enclosure)

Nicholas is in charge of a pod of Bull Sharks at a rescue facility, bonding with the creatures and making sure they don't eat each other during feeding time.

The first time he spotted you it was during a smoke break, watching as the sharks darted rapidly towards the outer reef of their massive enclosure. It wasn't uncommon for wild fish or the occasional seal to get stuck in the enclosure, most workers tried to help the creature as quickly as possible. So you could imagine Wolfwood's surprise at having a frantic half-human half-fish creature fly out of the water, tripping him in their attempt to escape the hungry sharks.

Frantic high-pitched chirps and damp, webbed fingers helped Nicholas up, checking him over to make sure there was no injuries.

Meanwhile Nicholas was gobsmacked at the sight of you, cowering as a shark swam a little too close. You were stunning, but he wasn't the kind to believe in silly tales of mermaids... until now that was.

It was obvious you were trapped, the only way back to the ocean was either through the Bull Shark's enclosure or on land, you were stuck either way. So Nicholas opted to help, awkwardly scooping up your body as he exited the enclosure, carrying you as you chittered in his ear.

The moment he reached the edge of the ocean, just outside the enclosure that was walled off, you happily leapt into the water, chirping as you splashed water over your drying scales and skin.

Wolfwood was about to head back, until you chirped loudly his way, ushering him over. He hesitantly obliged, moving closer.

That's when you pounced on him, nuzzling into his chest as you purred. Nicholas felt his cheeks flush, unsure of what was even happening as small waves lapped at his now soaked body.

Delicate hands tugged his work pants lower, Nicholas trying to pull them back up, only to freeze as that purring mouth enveloped his oddly hardened cock. He didn't recall the uncomfortable tightness of his wet clothes, nor the way those stunning eyes had him feeling butterflies in his gut.

Yet your mouth was warm, bobbing up and down as Nicholas stuttered out shaky moans, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as your tongue swirled around the head.

His cock was taken down to the hilt as your throat opened to take him whole, eyes fluttering to look up at the human that so graciously saved you.

You swallowed his release easily, even licking your lips as you gave Nicholas a toothy grin nuzzling into him one last time before leaving. Nicholas left with his cock still exposed, flaccid and covered in drool and cum.

Turns out you needed rescuing a few more times from the grumpy Wolfwood, giving him a new reward each time.

(Knives is a marine biologist, working alongside his mother Rem at her underwater observatory after discovering she had obtained a new asset. Here Reader is a pufferfish mermaid :3)

Knives works in an underwater observatory facility, the lead marine biologist under his mother Rem Saverem. He's often hard to approach as he prefers solitary research in the large reef they've set up the facility in.

He was shocked when Rem excitedly presented you to her eldest son, showing off the mermaid they had rescued from poachers, some of the net still tangled in the many spines across your body.

Other than his mother, Knives was incharge of studying you in your recovery. You were often panicked at the people watching you, darting to hide and camouflage with the natural decor of your temporary tank.

You'd only ever be seen out when Knives was around, taking an odd fascination with the gloomy human that observed you, taking notes on behaviourisms or certain characteristics you portrayed.

When one of the scientists startled you, causing you to panic, that's when Knives realised that the net entangled in your spines was a hindrance to your recovery. Frowning as you got caught on some coral, further injuring yourself as that only panicked you further.

You eventually freed yourself, sad chirping noises filling the tank as you pawed at the missing spines that had snapped off in your fear-stricken phase.

So Knives took it upon himself to untangle the net, taking a small knife to saw away the thick rope.

Of course you startled the moment he entered the water, hiding instantly. But Knives was patient, after all he was doing this after hours, against Rems orders of not interfering with you in hopes you'd recover without relying on humans.

Once you found the courage, recognising the man that made you follow along the glass in silent curiosity, you emerged. Quiet squeaks sounding as you observed this intruder, spines flaring the moment he pulled the knife from his pocket.

Turning to flee, Knives was quick to intercept, grabbing the rope before you could further harm yourself. You flailed desperately, screeching as Knives struggled to cut the net. But once the first cut was made, hissing as your spine pricked his flesh, you calmed.

Allowing Knives to slice the rope free of your body, you whimpered. Hands explored Knives body as he worked, slitted eyes admiring his exposed pectorals, chirping out admiring noises as he quirked a brow at you.

Another prick had Knives flinching, unaware you had flared your spines again, this time with an ulterior motive unknown to Marine Biologist.

Knives mind went foggy, panting into his oxygen mask as his skin began to warm, body feeling oddly fuzzy. You seemed unbothered, finally free of the net you circled the human, slipping off the mask that allowed him to breath.

Quickly you pulled off the remainder of his clothes, body coiling around him as you slid onto his hardened cock, Knives gasping at the foreign sensation.

You were now above him, pushing him to the sandy bottom of your tank, lower body humping his cock as pleased chirps drawled from your lips. The feeling of his cock was addictive to you, watching as Knives body reacted to your aphrodisiac, eyes clouded with lust as he reciprocated your advances.

Knives had been milked several times before his lungs began to squeeze, urging him to resurface for air. But no matter how many times his body jolted or fought against your continuous grinding, you didn't untangle yourself from him, simply cooing at how his hands covered his mouth.

He was borderline unconscious before he was discovered, embarrassingly enough. Rem, his mother, the one to save him from your ruthless fucking.

Yet despite being scolded and treated against your aphrodisiac, Knives couldn't find it in him to regret what he had done. In fact, the moment you were released back after a full recovery, Knives easily found you after you refused to leave the area.

Turns out, other than the drowning part, he enjoyed every touch and caress of your deadly body against his, and he'd be lying if he didn't indulge in some more sinful acts with his precious asset.

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strangeinvader9 · 2 years

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MerRatty

Working in the Marine Wildlife Rehabilitation Facility was fun. You got to see many different animals, you got to interact with people of the same interests and sometimes you got to travel to different cities.

At the moment, you were working with a few seals to make sure they were healing properly. They were goofy creatures and you loved working with them. "Okay, spin," you instructed.

The seals spun awkwardly on the land. They weren't the most graceful out of water, but you had to make sure they could still hold their own weight.

"Good. Very good. Speak."

A chorus of seal barks was your response.

"Yes!" Happy with their progress, you rewarded them with their fish and sent them on their way into the deeper end of the pool.

As you were on your way to do another check up, you were interrupted by one of your coworkers. You got as far as "Hey Lu-" before something wet and kind of squishy was shoved into your arms.

"I can't take him anymore, you deal with him," she snapped before leaving.

You watched after her, puzzled before looking down and spotting an octo-mer in your arms. "When did we get a merpup?" You wondered as the little one scowled up at you with an adorable looking pout.

"Hi," you greeted.

The merpup scowled, obviously not happy about something.

You hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe what you could use is a little alone time. Let's get you back to your tank so you can adjust."

After a few weeks, you understood why your coworker had dumped the octo-mer in her arms the way she had. He was antisocial and would throw things at anyone that bothered him. Somehow you were the exception. Ratchet, as you'd named the little grouch, often wandered the MWRF with you as a grumpy backpack. You carried a water bottle around to keep him hydrated which often ended up getting thrown at whomever took your attention from him for more than ten minutes.

"You gotta stop that, Ratchet," you scolded gently as he once again threw the bottle.

"He was annoying," the merpup huffed.

"Doesn't matter, you need to socialize if you're gonna make it out in the wild."

"I don't wanna."

"What do you mean you don't wanna?"

"I like being with you. If I go out in the wild, I'll be hunted and I won't get to see you."

You smiled, rubbing his little head. "You'll still see me, just not as often. Besides, just think of all the cool things you'd get to see."

"Like what?"

"Sunken ships, coral reefs, underwater caverns, whales, other mers. It's a huge world out there and being a sea creature, you'll get to see things I'll never even dream of. But you won't get to see any of it if you don't get out of here first."

Ratchet's tentacles tightened around your arms and waist, a sign you knew meant he wasn't too happy. "Promise I'll still see you," he demanded.

"I promise. Every chance I get, I'll go to the spot we release you and wait for you," you promised.

"Then I'll go. I'll tell you all about what I find."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

#xoc #ratchet #idw ratchet #ratchet x reader

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sentfromwolves · 2 years

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Thanks for tagging me @pinespittinink and indulging me constantly! ; w ; 💝💝💝 I love doing these kind of games hehe the words I had to find were: above, bloom, crystal, sun, and wrist!

🦢 ABOVE

I turn the book over again, and then once more, ignoring its rustling laughter as I look for any mark of a spell.

I even lift it above my head, staring at its spine and the blank sigil on its front. I run my fingers over it again. It does not protrude from the thick, stiff material. Rather, it feels like an indentation. Like someone pressed the mark of the three-headed beast against hot wax and left the impression to cool.

When I finally lower the book, I ignore the question.

“Did Sinfonia know you could talk too?” I ask.

🌺 BLOOM(ING)

This forest carries the heavy weight of something ancient. If I listen, I can hear the immortal eddies of the root systems deep below the earth at my feet, their whale song made of crackling bark and scraping wood. Some part of me, deep and intrinsic, wants to stop and lay down on the mossy floor, close my eyes as the earth sings. I taste the desire to sink my hands into that soft wet growth, to spread the little green magic that grows in my soul instead of starlight through the dark world so quiet and wondrous beneath. I know I could spend hours in this place listening to the sound of blooming flowers, sprouts just barely beginning to push their way beyond the dirt.

I wonder what I could call forth, if given the time to find what below remains yet unborn.

🔮 CRYSTAL

Instead, I only meet the ravenous gazes of a few gaping Solar Celestials further down the balcony who immediately turn away, and the distant glimpse of one of my siblings far away on one of the bulbous protrusions of the balcony. Crescent couches fat with crimson cushions sit low around crystal tables laden with trays and bowls of fresh fruits and sugar-spun roses, wine glasses held high in the hands of admirers as they crowd around my brother and his purring cats, flattering him with their silky words.

Amur had summoned the two beasts when he was little with his magic, or so the story goes. He had barely crawled from his cradle to the floor before his lunar voice brought them forth: two caracal kittens that now follow him with staunch loyalty wherever he goes. They grew as he did, and now they are so tall they come up past my hips.

I stare at the caracals until one of them looks across the distance and twitches their tail, bright emerald irises cast upon me like they can read my own shameful thoughts.

👒 SUN(LIGHT)

“You would do well to accept this proposal,” they say, voice silken with warning. “Pride has no place in the wilds of Adrien, girl. You are no longer in the shelter of the capital, and you would do well to remember that even sunlight breeds beasts.”

My lips thin, pressed hard against one another. For all my heart resists the admission, I know Iliyana is right. I ran from Os Istranos without expectation of what awaited beyond the gilt shadow of its diamond towers—but I would be a fool not to expect monsters lurking in the dark. Something took Diana, after all. Something I know eventually, I must face.

I let out a trembling breath.

🙌 WRIST

“I’ll let go,” Constantin says, his voice dropping to a savage sound meant only for my ears. He steps close, bowing his head so that I felt his breath, his sharp teeth gleaning over the shell of my ear. “For now. But you’d do well to remember that for all you bitch and whine about preferring beasts or no one at all, eventually that cruel mother of yours will sell you to the first deplorable cretin that comes crawling to her door with a handsome enough price for your lunar blood.”

His hand squeezes around my wrist, nails biting my animal pulse. My rabbit heart is near to bursting. I stand like a statue in his grip, choking on my own breath.

“Would you prefer that, Aurora?” Constantin asks. His voice, burred deep as velvet shredded over rough iron, rots through my ribs, burying deep. “To be sold to some lesser creature for the possibility, no matter how faint, that someone out there might gain an heir with starlight in their veins? I am the best option you have, but if you want to walk yourself into the mouth of wolves, that is your choice.”

And I’ll go ahead and tag @pinespittinink (reverse uno card >:C 🃏) @awritingcaitlin @mjjune @ryns-ramblings @k--havok @kyofsonder @florraisons @baroquesse @talesofsorrowandofruin@bebewrites and anyone else who would like to have some fun! ; w ; 💞 Your words are: boots, mud, rough, petal, ripple.

#game train #gt: birthright #wip: birthright #my writing #thanks for the tag!#i always love doing these wip searches for words #they also definitely call me out ; v;#lol

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starconsumer444 · 3 years

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“You’ll Love Me in the Morning”

(Miya Atsumu 18+)

A/N: I’ve had this idea for a while. It’s based off this guy I knew who was a pain in the ass to deal with and I was sure he’d kill me. He didn’t though, so now this exists. Full circle, yeah?

(CW/TW: Yandere!Atsumu, [I don’t like that term for this, but it describes it well enough, I suppose???], Incel!Atsumu [??????], Non-con, Sadism, Crying, Recording, Kidnapping, A dash of Misogyny, Spitting, Slapping, Punching, Kicking, Fighting, Strangulation, Borderline snuff [but no actual death], Mind-break???, Name-Calling, !!THIS IS FUCKED UP!!, Bad proofreading but I tried my best<3, please tell me if there’s a mistake somewhere.)

Atsumu is a demented heathen and you finally have to face what you’ve picked up on for so long. This isn’t shocking. You told everyone he was weird. Why didn't they believe you?

You thrash violently against his hold as he drags you back to his bedroom by your hair. His grip is strong and unwavering. You throw punches at his arms and try to dig your heels into the ground, that only earns you a harsh tug forward.

“You fucking weirdo! Let me go!” You yell at him but he doesn’t even spare a glance over his shoulder to be face to face with your indignation.

You start to fight even harder, with more fury when he grabs the door handle to his room. You know you don’t want to go back in there and you fear you’ll never come back out if you do. You dig your nails into his forearm as you kick at his legs. You're screaming your lungs out, hoping to god that someone hears you and comes to your rescue.

Where does that get you? Nowhere.

It takes the athlete so little effort to throw your struggling body to the floor of his room and slam the door behind himself. For a second, the fight’s knocked right out of you and you're silent as you see his menacing figure loom over you.

The expression on your face is that of a deer in headlights— Atsumu can’t help but feel a little pleased and sadistic.

He looks amused, like this is all a game to him. He wears that same cocky smirk, but his eye’s are no longer gentle, there’s a darkness behind them that you know for a fact you would've picked up on had it been there before.

Why did you agree to come here?

“I want to go home, Atsumu.” You declare sternly as you get back to your feet and meet his eyes. Really though, you don’t think you can keep this facade up. Your heart is beating out of your chest and the only thing keeping you on your feet and not shaking about is will power. “Where are my clothes?” There’s demand in your voice, but you’re sure even Atsumu can hear it waver.

“Come on, baby,” He steps toward you and for every one of his steps forward you take one step back. Soon enough you're pressed up against his wooden bed frame. “Just be good for the camera.”

You eye it, the red light signaling that its recording from on top of his tv stand across thee room.

“No!” You push at his chest. It’s pure muscle. Even through the fabric of his black shirt you can feel it. You can’t fight him, but you’re not going to give up.

“Why not?” His voice is honeyed. He lifts your head by your chin and lets his thumb run over your bottom lip. His eyes meet yours and they’re filled with feigned compassion, like he hadn’t just thrown you to the floor. “I’ve been so nice to you.”

“Because I don’t want this. I don’t want to be here anymore.” You were supposed to be hanging out but you woke up with your clothes gone and hidden away. “Atsumu, I rejected you. Why don’t you get it?” You stare daggers right back into his brown eyes, but he just chuckles and harshly presses his lips to yours.

Your hands hastily grab onto the fabric of his shirt as you fall back onto his bed, his lips not leaving yours for a second. His large frame traps you under him. Your hands are flat against his chest as you try to push him off. It’s useless, you feel him smile against your lips as he uses one hand to grab both of your wrists and hold them away from himself. Quickly enough, your legs come up to kick at him. It’s doesn’t last very long. You whimper into his lips as a strong hand comes down to slap your thigh. It stings like hell and has you relenting immediately.

“Kiss me back.” He demands breathily, only parting for a second to look you in the eye and tell you what to do.

Needless to say, you refuse.

That only has him sitting up, and slapping you silly when you don't comply.

He holds your arms firmly and whales on you. He’s saying something about you being a “disrespectful and unappreciative bitch”. You can barely hear him—not over your small whines as you try to turn your head and wriggle away from him. He slaps you about ten times before he stops.

He lets you go— moves off of you, and you hastily move to the headboard. Maybe if you don’t actually try to run he won’t hurt you anymore.

“Atsumu-”

“What happened to ‘Tsumu?” Even if you weren’t looking each other dead in the eyes the smile he wore would be more than obvious in his voice.

There you go with that deer in headlights look again like you’re the victim, he thinks to himself. He’s the one with the broken heart; not you.

He moves himself closer to you, officially giving you no where to go or run to. He’s right between your legs when he leans forward to kiss you again. You still don’t reciprocate.

“Yer bein’ difficult,” He scolds, lacing his hand in your hair and yanking you to the side. Your heads cocked uncomfortably but you still keep your eyes on him.

“Please let me go.” Your voice isn’t strong anymore more, you’re practically begging.

You don’t even see it because you flinch when he does it but you feel it. His spit lands, frothy, thick and disgusting on your cheek.

“Stop asking that shit, yer not goin’ anywhere.” Your body tenses. Your hands come to your chest, almost curling in on yourself, when you feel his hand strike your tits— each once, individually. “Say you love me.” He yanks your hair again.

He pinches your thigh when you don’t respond quickly enough.

You just jerk away from the feeling.

Your first tear falls upon the realization that you’re not getting out of this and they seemingly never stop coming afterwards.

He lets go of your hair and your first move is to try to run away from him. You make it barely past his shoulder when he slams you down onto his mattress again. Your head bumps into the headboard on the way down, but he pays that no mind.

The struggle is violent, you’re scratching him like a wild animal and none of your kicks land solidly on any part of him. He slaps and punches you several times telling you to knock it off, but not once do you relent. He ends up with his palm flat against your face pressing you down firmly into the mattress as he pulls his sweats and boxers down and positions himself at your entrance.

You feel the head of his dick smooth right between your folds and you feel the wetness of his precum spread along with it. For the first time, your hit lands solid. You slap him across the face and bite his palm.

The only thing you see is his displeased face before your world is made a spinning blur by his fist meeting with the side of your head, it’s filled with way more violence than the last few times. Then he lands one of your stomach and it knocks the air out of you right before he guides himself into you.

You try to scream, but the sounds not there. It feels like he is tearing you apart from the inside. You twist in agony and you can hear him laughing at you. Then he moves himself and the pace is brutal. He wants you to hurt, he doesn't have to say it.

His calloused hands wrap around your throat and squeeze tightly. You're going to die; Atsumu is going to kill you.

You flounder beneath him but he pays it no mind. Moans spill from his lips like he’s enjoying himself.

“Baby, I’ve wanted this for so long,” He looks you dead in the eyes with that cruel smile. “But you don’t know how to give men what they want, do you?” Your mouth hangs open when you try to gasp for air— he takes the opportunity to spit right onto your tongue. “Been so nice for so long, but incompetent bitches like you wanna play hard to get. Hate that shit.” His grip on your throat loosens for a second; you manage to get a little air right before he tightens both hands right back again.

Now it feels like he’s trying to ram his dick right past your cervix. Bug eyed and terrified, you shake your head. It hurts so fucking bad.

“Yer bleedin’, ya know?” It’s a low chuckle. When he looks down to see where your bodies meet, then looks back up at you, he smiles. “Sluts like you deserve it. Pussy’s gunna be destroyed for anyone else who tries to use it.” His grip is now impossibly tight and you’re sure this is it. You’re sure he’s going to kill you.

This is no way to go. You don’t want to die like this, with Atsumu violating you and your lungs burning. You kick at his sides and its weak along with your slaps to his forearms and scratches at his face. Still, his skin is marked red and on the verge of bleeding in some areas.

You're coughing and trying to sit up but he slams you back down by your neck. Drool starts to fall from the corner of your mouth and you want to beg him but you can’t. Your hands squeeze at his forearm, trying to appeal to his better nature.

He just calls you a weak little bitch. “Should learn to smile for the camera, yer gonna be my little snuff star soon.” He beams. You squeeze his arm even harder, the pads of your fingers are sure to leave bruises.

As your tunnel vision starts to kick in he lets go and shoves two of his fingers into your mouth. You choke around them as you try to catch your breath.

Your body’s limp and you’re not fighting him anymore, you’re just coughing viciously around his fingers as the worlds color comes back to you.

“Stop cryin’” He reprimands as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth to slap you. The delivery is as rough as ever but you��re too dazed to register it fully; you just let out a painful mewl. You hadn’t even realized you were still crying, but it’s even worse now. You feel the snot pooling around your upper lip. “Yer not fuckin’ dead. What the fuck are you still doing that for.”

Your chest feels heavy as you stop coughing and gasp for air. Your throat hurts, your strength is gone, but you’re alive and sure there’s a god. There has to be, you were sure Atsumu would kill you. Still, Atsumu is ramming himself right into your cervix like he’s going to magically break past it.

You muster up just enough strength to pull your self away from it with your elbows, but he pulls you back down onto it and holds you by your waist. You can feel the wetness of his fingers covered in your spit pressed against your skin. You sob out hoarsely, but there's little sound and he smirks.

Your hand viciously taps at his shoulder and you shake your head; tears are still falling. You try to tell him that it hurts, but when you open your mouth to speak, “hur-” is all you manage before your sound is gone and your throat aches. He’s destroyed you.

He gets the message.

“I don’t care if it hurts.” He furrows his brows. “Fucking me is a privilege and you’ll like whatever I give you.” Right when he says that his rhythm falters and he starts to loose himself in the pleasure of being wrapped in your heat.

“Fuck, ahhh-” He moans out, head coming down into your neck. His lips press against you in a wet kiss and you can feel the heat of his breath against you. “Should get you pregnant, it’s not like you’re goin’ anywhere.” He says before he bites into your shoulder and cums inside you with a guttural moan. Your back arches off the mattress and you feel his palm flatten against your stomach between you and him before he forcefully pushes you back down.

Atsumu doesn't know what he’ll do with you or the video quite yet. He lays on top of you panting heavily and in deep thought.

He could keep you? Yeah, he’ll keep you. He could post the video? No, that’s for him to watch and show you when you piss him off.

He’s going to make your life hell from now on until you learn to love him.

“Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

#yandere miya atsumu #yandere atsumu #yandere haikyuu #atsumu smut #astumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #this boy still haunts my nightmares and its been years #guess its kinda funny now tho #fearing for my life in the presence of a man...#he could've at LEAST been attractive #but I'll spare you all the details

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pillow-anime-talk · 4 years

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hello～! may i request for Ging with number 19 and/or 45 kiss prompt please?

🎊🎉congratulations on your 1k followers btw🎊🎉

# tags: scenario; current relationship; rainy day!au; romance; fluff; a bit of comedy; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. ging freecss {hxh}

author’s note: thank you, bby! and AAAAAAA ging once again <3 also little information for this scenario; ging and you are young

19. A sweet kiss in the rain. Just like in the movie… or maybe not?

It was a pleasant evening, but it started to rain during your and Ging’s long walk. Or rather... it was one of the biggest downpours you’ve ever seen, really; you would even say that you’re about to be attacked by a tornado or something like that. That’s why you and your boyfriend decided to hide in the trunk of a huge tree in the middle of Whale Island.

You smiled a little when your arm touched the shoulder of a twenty-year-old who, like you, was soaked to the proverbial, dry thread. His hair that had previously stood high now fell over his forehead and the sides of his head. Water was dripping from them, just like from all his whole body. You obviously weren’t worse; your hair was tangled, your once pretty clothes smelled of rain now, your shoes were like two small, artificial lakes, and you were getting colder and colder.

Fortunately, Ging noticed this very quickly, so he put his arm around you and pulled you closer to his own body.

“I would have given you my scarf, but that would only make matters worse and you would be even colder.” He spoke in a low voice muffled by drops hitting the leaves around two of you. “When it stops raining we'll go home and take a hot bath, okay?”

“Okay, love.” You replied, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Anyway, as it is now, it’s perfect. A bit wet but still perfect.” You’ve already added in a slightly happier voice that made your boyfriend giggle a little.

“If you say so...” He muttered softly, drawing you again.

You sat in this comfortable silence for the next few moments, watching the open world to the both of you; you have seen birds flying, raindrops still falling, leaves dancing in the wild wind, and even some lightning bolts, which luckily weren’t close to you. Though the weather was mean for the two of you, especially on this nice day of your second anniversary, such time together in silence and intimacy was definitely worth it all.

“... Umm. Hey, Ging?” You said suddenly, pushing your head away from his body and the young boy opened his eyes and looked at you questioningly. “I’ve always wanted to do something fun in the rain.”

“Mhm, okay. But... What do you mean?” The black-haired man turned his head a bit, still not understanding what you meant.

“Well. For example, this.” You answered softly, bringing your face much closer and when you were close enough you could easily touch your boyfriend’s lips with yours.

Your mouth were cold and chapped because of the temperature and the weather, but the kiss itself felt warm, endearing and gentle. Your hand, meanwhile, landed on a teenager’s cheek, which became involuntarily hot and quite red. This color perfectly contrasted with the dark shadows inside the huge trunk and your gray (because of water) clothes.

On the other hand, after a short second, you yourself felt a large, cool hand grab your waist, and a blissful sigh entered your ears.

It was by far the most perfect kiss for the second anniversary.

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harrysgoldenbum · 4 years

Text

Duplicate

It’s uncanny how similar Harry and bub are. From their mannerism down to their looks. People often tease Harry on how he cloned himself but didn’t get the age right.

Bub had his thick, dark brown, curly hair and his jade green eyes. He got his father’s dimples and smile.

But bub also had the habit of plucking his lower lip when he is thinking, running his hands through his hair when he got flustered, and Harry’s terrible sense of humor.

And as he grew, the similarities grew. He started to walk like Harry, stand like Harry, and started to talk like Harry (or at least tried to).

And Harry, Harry thrived off the energy bub projected. And Bub thrived off of Harry’s.

Eventually, Harry started to dress his son up to match his outfit daily. And then started to call bub his duplicate. And when Harry would have bub try on new outfits, his first question would always be, “Daddy, are you getting one? We have to be matchers!”

To which Harry would always respond with, “Of course bub! We have to look our best for Mumma.”

~~~~~~

People would often stop and watch the two of them as the cross street. It wasn’t because Harry was a world-famous singer, no. It was because his son would attract just as much attention. And when he felt like he was being watched, he would always put on a show. Holding Harry’s hand, he would strut down the crosswalk and send a smile to whoever was watching.

He would tell people “Treat People with Kindness”, as he would walk past them holding his Daddy’s hand.

~~~~~~

They also danced the same. Uncoordinated and wild. The type of wild that often meant jumping on the couch and running around the house screaming the lyrics. Usually is was Harry’s songs that were being played.

Or when bub was at one of Harry’s shows, he would stand out of the crowds view put on a performance of his own (in front of his Mumma of course). Imitating the way Harry interacted, danced, and sang. And his favorite part was copying Harry’s whale because he would often make a mess for not doing it right, but he loved the praise that would come from Harry when he picked his soaking wet son.

“Copying me again, mate?” Harry would tease.

Only to get a sassy “Always Daddy!” in return.

~~~~~~

But it wasn’t just at concerts or when he was out with is daddy when bub would copy him. No, this included at the studio too. Bub was nine to ten months when Harry was recording when holding him. He was watching Harry sing into the mic and decided that he wanted to do the same. So with his binkie in his mouth, bub lurched forward, grabbed the black device and recorded himself sucking on his pacifier.

And it was’t the only time bub did that. When he started to talk, he would often interrupt Harry’s session with his babbles.

Harry keeps every single recording that bub made.

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olympusnerd · 4 years

Text

Titanomachy: The Beginning

9000 words about the awkward first meeting of Zeus and his siblings. This takes place when Zeus releases the Olympians from their father Cronus and realize that a war is coming.

Now was the time.

Zeus was finally strong enough to face his father, Cronus, in a battle that would shake heaven and earth for a century. After years of cultivating his strength and learning the ways of the world, Metis and Amalthea felt that they had done all they could to prepare the young man to slay his father.

But he would need help.

He would need his brothers and sisters.

Zeus’s mother, Rhea, had told him countless times of his siblings being engulfed whole by Cronus, the proclaimed ruler of heaven, ocean and the earth. While it was true that they were immortal and had surely survived the endeavor, there was no way to know exactly what state they would be in once released from their dark prison.

“Hestia, she is your oldest sister,” Rhea said to him during one of their brief talks. “She is to be respected, as she has a power no others before her could ever wield. The power of flames.”

“What of the other’s?” he asked curiously. “What are the other’s like?”

Rhea’s eyes fell to the ground, as she struggled with the words, “I do not know. I was not granted the luxury of getting to know them as I did your sister. As soon as she showed her talents over flames, your father consumed her for fear of being defeated by his own progeny as he had defeated his father, Uranus. The rest he took out of my arms before they could so much as utter their first sounds of life.”

Zeus reflected on the conversation now, as he watched his mother hand the drugged laced goblet of fermented juice to his father.

What would they be like, his sisters, his brothers. Did they know the world that moved on while they lay dormant in the belly of a tyrant?

Could he convince them to be on his side, otherwise?

The act was crude to say the least when the king of all existence began to heave and gag up his supper. And though Zeus knew to expect it, the sight was no less appalling to see when the first body of a fully grown woman with long, tangled locks of walnut that stuck to her face from the wetness of Cronus's innards, no doubt. She was nude and gave a slight shiver at the chill on her damp, uncovered body.

When her radiant green eyes took in her surroundings, she looked like a frightened animal just released from a cage. Zeus felt an urge to go and comfort her, but there wasn’t time before another heave.

Another body, this one of a man with black matted hair, emerged from their father’s mouth. He wasn’t as frightened as the woman, perhaps understanding a little better by now what was happening.

They were being freed.

Another heave, and out came a woman with hair, skin and eyes the color of freshly tilled dirt. She also didn’t look frightened, but certainly confused.

Another heave, and a man emerged, this one looking unnervingly aware. His eyes as red as burning coals landed on Zeus’s and, to the young god’s surprise, the man gave a curt nod.

Like he understood what was happening, like he understood what was going on as well as Zeus himself.

A final, more violent heave and out came the only sibling Zeus had ever heard the name of: Hestia. Her smooth skin was the tone of ground sumac and her eyes and hair were as black as Nyx’s element. Unlike the others, she landed gracefully on her feet, just before turning towards Cronos. That’s when Zeus saw it, a radiation of light coming from one of her hands like she was holding a small whitish sun in her fingers.

Cronos, having been weakened by the drugs that forced him to regurgitate his devoured children, fled after spitting a curse to his wife Rhea.

He undoubtedly left for Mount Othrys to seek the aid of his fellow Titans.

The Olympians would have little time now. Decisions were to be made.

Zeus did not give chase. Instead he stood, in proud victory, over his freed siblings, though they were not the sight he had hoped to see. Though similar in structure of flesh and bone like he was, and close enough in size, Zeus was discomforted by the wild, animalistic sprawl of creatures before him covered in goo from their life giver, and masses of long, untamed wet hair clinging to unclothed bodies.

“What are we to do now?” the first woman to emerge asked, still sprawled out on the ground.

“You know what we must do, Hera,” answered the man who looked to Zeus earlier. “We have to fight.”

“But we don't know how to fight!” claimed the woman with dark features. “We barely have the strength to stand.”

Zeus wanted to speak, wanted to greet and even shake hands with the siblings he had heard so much about. After all, they were the reason he had done any of this.

He needed them.

They were his kind.

His brothers.

His sisters.

They were to fulfil this destiny of ruling the world with him, at his side. The Fates had seen it. Now they need only see it through.

Instead, his mother moved to his side, standing as all the titans did a great deal larger than he and her other children whom she hadn’t seen in such a long time. Her hand went around his shoulders and he felt her suggestion of patience wash over him.

“Hades is right.” It was Hestia who spoke this time, her eyes still watching the direction of their father, no, their captor had fled. “Demeter, I know you have fear. But we must. We have to fight.”

It was the other brother this time that cut in, standing erect and stretching out muscles that Zeus was surprised to find as well defined as his own. “We don’t have any reason to fight. We’re free now. Let’s go about our lives and be done with this. These are just politics, we’ve heard through that beast’s guts that this is just politics. I want to go find something to do, someone to do. I want to explore this world.”

“I want to fight, Poseidon. I’m going to fight.”

“Agh,” grunted the toned one.

Hades spoke up, a look of concentration on his face. “We must come up with a plan. He’s certainly gone to tell his followers what’s happened and they’ll be coming soon to slaughter us all.”

“Slaughter us!” cried Hera, struggling to stand on her thin, wobbling legs. It reminded Zeus of a newborn deer. “Then we must go, we must hide until we’re ready!”

“I can help.” All the heads turned to Zeus, which was enough to make them all go quiet. He was beautiful to say the least, dressed in a clean white shining chiton held up by a golden pin his grandmother Gaia had fastened him. All around him shone a radiance that would have made him difficult to stare at for too long by weaker eyes, but to his delight the others could take him in. His own silver eyes and wide toothy smile did little to ease the nerves of his siblings though. He realized they did not know who he was. No matter how many conversations they could have listened to, as they only knew what Cronus had seen, there was no way for them to have known Zeus was the sixth of the union between Cronus and Rhea.

“My children,” Rhea balled, walking with arms wide open towards what, to her, were miniature people. “I have longed for this day, the day that I could hold you in my arms and hear your sweet voice, a gift to mothers that I was denied!” She dropped to her knees and brought her arms around them, taking all but Zeus into her embrace as her whaling grew louder. “I have dreamed of this, I have dreamed you would be returned to me, and it is all thanks to your brother, your incredible baby brother.”

When everyone’s eyes instantly fell upon him, Zeus, for the first time in his life, blushed.

Baby brother indeed.

“And does this savior have a name?” asked the small Hera.

He smiled at the sound of her sweet voice.

She was becoming a quick favorite.

“I am Zeus.”

“How did you avoid our fate?” asked Poseidon, his brow furrowed as he stepped out of their mother’s embrace.

“I traded him with a boulder just before your wretched father tried to gobble him up,” she answered quickly, “Mother Gaia helped me plan it. Just as she and Father Sky helped plan this. The freedom of the Olympians.”

“Is that what we are?” asked Demeter timidly. “We’re Olympians. Not Titans?”

“No, not Titans,” spat Zeus. “We are better. And we will rise to better. But first, we must leave this place and devise a plan.”

“Then I suppose you could use all the help you could get, hm?”

The voice came from someone new, with a voice that was soft, tender and exceedingly feminine. Walking from the ocean that cast waves onto the rocks appeared a woman, but not just any woman.

This woman exuded an aroma of roses and salt water and flesh smooth, lightly oiled. She was draped in a sheer white linen that clung to the curves of her breasts and hips.

They all knew who she was, for the goddess needed no introduction with an entrance as show stopping as a comet crashing into the Earth.

“Aphrodite!” exclaimed Rhea, “I’m so glad you came!”

She stood between the Titaness and Olympians height, her breasts conveniently eye level with Zeus and Poseidon who had yet to tear their hungry eyes away from her ample bosom.

“I’m here with good news. Themis, Epimetheus and Prometheus said that they will join our cause.”

“You mean the Titans?” Zeus exclaimed, surprised by the alliance. “Mother, you said we couldn't’ trust any of the Titans.”

“No, son, I told you we shouldn’t ask for their aid. That is, until the time is right. And it needed to be done when, if someone were to betray us to Cronus, it would happen when we already freed your brothers and sisters. Themis and Prometheus are fine soldiers. I suppose they will do us a great good.” She turned back to Aphrodite, disturbed at the lack of names. “But what of Oceanus?” Surely her brother knew how important this was.

The goddess shook her beautiful head of burgundy curls. “He is unable to leave the seas to fight with us. But he sends his daughter Styx and her children Zelus, Nike, Cratos and Bia.”

Rhea crossed her arms, sticking the nail of her thumb in her mouth as she pondered aloud, “Yes, but will it be enough.”

It was Hestia who spoke up this time, her voice steady and well mannered as if she hadn’t spent her entire existence lost in a black abyss with her brothers and sisters. “If it’s alliances you seek, perhaps amongst your enemy is not who you need to implore. But rather, the enemy of the enemy.”

“Who do you have in mind?” asked Zeus curiously.

“Tell me, what do you know of the Hecatonchires and Cyclopes?”

“The-the Hecatonchires?” Rhea looked aghast at the suggestion. “Those monsters would do us no good, they would sooner rip us all to pieces with their hundred hands!”

“They hate your husband for hiding them away in Gaia,” Aphrodite pointed out. “They might prove a worthy ally.”

“They’re deep within Tartarus for all we know, how could we possibly find the, free them, and convince them to help us?”

“I can go,” offered Zeus. “I can do this, it’s my destiny to see this through.”

Before she could offer up an objection, the other Olympians agreed.

“You free them and we will meet with the defecting Titans,” Hestia decided. “We can begin preparations for battle by the time you get back.”

Rhea, Aphrodite noticed, looked somewhat clammy at the idea though not a word left her lips. The goddess wondered if the Titaness realized exactly what it was she had started.

A war was coming.

#greek #gods #greek gods #olympians #the sins of gods #aphrodite #zeus #hera #posiedon #hestia #demeter #the olympians #Olympus #Titans #Rhea #Cronus #Original #original writing #writing

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3 - Snow Falls

Summary: In which our heroine forges new paths

“I was just guessing at numbers and figures

Pulling the puzzles apart”

-The Scientist, Coldplay

The sunlight gently lightened the room until Emma woke with a start, her eyes frantically searching for some clue about whose bed she was in. With a groan, memories from the prior night returned and she wished she could go back to sleep.

After the doctor’s unceremonious exit, the tension broke. Liam was going to be fine and the world was right again. Graham’s shoulders relaxed, David looked like he wanted to use the opportunity to pull Mary Margaret into his arms and waltz around the room, Mary Margaret’s smile was so big that it literally brightened the gloomy light of the hospital and Killian’s jaw had unclenched. She had felt cut adrift because she thought the way his muscle twitched in his cheek was about the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

Unfortunately, a more immediate concern instantly renewed her stress. It was obvious that Liam hadn’t informed his brother of his impending arrival, much less that he was bringing company with him and Dr. Whale had pretty much told her she didn’t have to go home but she couldn’t stay there. Unless she wanted to crash in the chair in her partner’s room, she needed a place to sleep. Honestly, the chair was not really an option either since she was sure she would have to fight Killian for it.

She had decided her first priority should be to find her phone. She wasn’t normally one to be tied to an electronic device but with Henry traveling and the rest of her world off kilter, it seemed important to have a lifeline. Once she had it, she had planned to see if this town had Uber or taxi service, a hotel, and a 24 hour store since she was without wheels or any of the comforts of home and for the first time she had noticed that her clothes were bloodstained.

As it turned out, Mary Margaret took charge in a way both unexpected and jarring. Not only did the other woman have her phone, but when Emma revealed her lack of sleeping arrangements for the trip leaving Killian to awkwardly offer his extra bedroom up to her even though he wouldn’t be in residence, she had also smoothly intervened with an excuse of keeping Emma “under observation” in her guest room. Before Emma knew what was happening, she had been bundled into the other woman’s car with a promise from the deputy to drop her personal items off after they had finished processing them for evidence.

It hadn’t escaped her notice that you only needed evidence to investigate crimes, not so much for single vehicle car crashes, but she kept her questions to herself and had allowed the kindness of strangers to wash over her.

By the light of day though, she was extremely uncomfortable with the ease they all rearranged her life, albeit momentarily. Deciding the best thing to do would be to get cleaned up and go back to the hospital to check on Liam, she gingerly got out of bed. She was incredibly sore and as she moved over to the full length mirror in the corner, she lifted up her borrowed pajama top to examine the damage. The angry purple bruise covered several inches of her side and would probably last weeks. However, it was the only outward damage from the wreck other than the dark circles under her eyes from her sleepless night.

Wondering about the time, she was already reaching for her phone when it started to ring, alerting her to an incoming video call.

“Henry!” She answered, a big grin on her face and excitement in her voice.

“What’s up, Mom? Are you sleeping in?”

Her eyes scanned his face and she felt her nerves settle a little. “Yeah kid, Liam and I had an eventful night.”

“Yeah? Did you get to meet his brother? Liam told me he only has one hand, just like Captain Hook, and that he knows how to sword fight.”

The things her little boy found fascinating were a constant source of amusement for her. Although she had to admit that—in this case at least—those sorts of details would probably stick with anyone. She thought her observation of Killian the previous night had been pretty thorough but apparently she had missed some things.

For the obvious reason that ten-year-olds weren’t know for their ability to keep secrets and the likelihood of others overhearing her conversations, she had informed him of the trip nonchalantly on their last call, offering no explanation or reasons for it. And bless him, if Henry thought it was strange for her to be traveling with Liam, he didn’t question her about it. Despite the fact that she was sure Neal had some thoughts on the matter, for Henry nothing could be more natural than a road trip with a friend and Henry assumed his friends would automatically be hers.

“Yes, I did meet the famous Killian Jones,” she teased him, “but I can’t confirm his ability with a sword.” She blushed a little when she thought she heard a snicker from the first floor drift up to the open loft and was grateful that the innuendo would be lost on her son.

“Listen kid, I need to talk to you about something. Is your dad around?” She didn’t want to alarm him and she would feel better knowing Neal was close if the news upset him.

“Yeah, hold on a minute.” The camera moved away from his face as he ran over to wherever Neal was, the bouncy motion of the camera only making her a little sick. “Okay, he’s here.”

Neal’s smile and jaunty wave filled the camera view for a second before he took the phone from Henry and adjusted the angle so she could see them both. “Hey Emma, having a nice trip?”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about. We were in a little accident last night,” she started, keeping her attention on Henry and watching for his reaction.

“Crap, are you okay?” Neal said as Henry eyes started to cloud over.

“Yes, I’m totally fine,” she rushed to assure them, making sure she kept a big smile on her face. What she wouldn’t give to be there with Henry. For the thousandth time, she regretted her decision to spend a summer apart. “Liam is fine too, Henry. His arm is hurt but he’s going to be back to normal by the time you see him again.”

“Are you sure?” Henry looked hopeful but his voice was small. “He promised he would teach me how to play cricket.”

“Completely sure, kid,” she said. Thankfully he took the news pretty well but she wondered how he had managed to exact that promise from Liam. She knew that they had talks when Henry came to the office after school the one day a week she usually stayed late to do research or complete paperwork. There was only so much homework and video games he could tolerate before he wanted to be up and moving around. Once Liam told her he wasn’t disturbed by the interruption, she let Henry visit next door. She knew he indulged her son’s rampant curiosity but hadn’t realized Liam had taken him under his wing and might actually look forward their interactions. It made her feel a little guilty for giving the man such a hard time, all the time.

Taking her word for the matter, Henry moved on with nary another thought. He told her a little about what they had planned for their day of sightseeing and then announced he had to eat his breakfast and left the frame. Neal shouted a reminder that he was to eat cereal, not his favorite pop tarts, before turning his attention back to her. “Do we need to cut our trip short, Emma? We can come to you if you need us.”

God, she was tempted to tell him that she did need them to come back. She tamped down the selfish urge and said, “No, I really am fine. You guys deserve this time together.”

“Thank you,” he said and she knew he wasn’t only referencing their current situation. “I’ll have him call again tomorrow to check on you if you want.”

“That would be great.”

They said their goodbyes but she didn’t move for several minutes. Sitting on the bed, she tried to reroute her thoughts into some kind of plan for the day. Clothes were a must because while Mary Margaret’s things worked in a pinch, she couldn’t spend all day in them.

“Emma,” came the tentative voice of her host from below, “you have a visitor.”

Popping her head over the bannister, Emma looked down and the mop of dark hair let her know that her visitor was of the Jones variety. With a grimace, she checked out her reflection again. She looked like an overgrown child in the pajama shorts that were covered in bright red flowers and showed a little more leg than was probably appropriate, especially since they were topped off with a matching shirt that had ruffles at the sleeves. Add to that the fact that her hair had taken on a wild, rumpled look since she went to bed with it wet after a hasty shower to rinse off the worst of the night and she considered just carrying on the conversation from the loft. What she wouldn’t give for swipe of mascara and a little concealer for her eyes.

Making her way slowly down the steep steps, her foot barely touched the wooden floor of the living room when he asked, “Alright there, Swan?”

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but the cheerful friendliness of his voice and the crooked smile was a definite improvement over the shocked awkwardness and confusion of last night. His eyes still followed her movements with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. But that could be because she was shy about meeting his gaze, probably stemming from how gorgeous she found him and not wanting to make a fool of herself.

“He brought breakfast,” Mary Margaret gushed, pushing a box of pastries towards her. “I’m going to get ready while you two catch up.”

They both watched her step into the bathroom. When Emma heard the shower start, knowing that was about as much privacy as they could expect in the open floor plan space, she reached for a bear claw. “Thanks, these are my favorites.”

“Least I could do,” he responded, as much at a loss as she was apparently. He kept staring at her and it was starting to get unnerving.

“How’s Liam this morning?” Glancing over at the clock on the microwave, she amended, “Or afternoon rather.”

“He woke up for a few minutes and was his normal pleasant self,” Killian reported.

As she sat down, she imagined how grumpy her partner would have been having all his carefully laid plans ruined before they had ever been set in motion. It did explain why his brother seemed in a better mood though.

“He was concerned about your welfare, love. Gave me a quite an earful when he found out I had sent you out into the world with only Mary Margaret for protection while I kept vigil at his bedside. He’s sleeping again now so I decided it was time for us to have a little chat.”

Deciding to focus on the least troubling part of his statement, namely the implication that the only hospital volunteer in history who took work home with her wasn’t a force to be reckoned with, she said in a thoughtful tone, “I wouldn’t bet against her.”

When he didn’t pick up the thread of conversation, she reached for another pastry. It felt like he trying to wait her out, letting the silence that stretched between them drive her to reveal all her secrets.

Just when things were getting truly uncomfortable and she started to pray for Mary Margaret to finish her damn shower soon, he caved. “I apologize for last night. I’m afraid I didn’t make the best first impression and maybe I’m not doing much better today since I neglected to ask how you are feeling.”

“Well, your brother deserves some of the blame for the disaster that was our first meeting,” she conceded lightly. “If I had known we were dropping by unannounced in the dead of night, he would have gotten an earful of his own. I should have known better than to think he would have communicated like a normal human being.”

He was looking at her again with that weird far-off expression. Her skin tingled from his nearness and she tried to ignore that his body had leaned closer to hers.

Rushing to steer the conversation away from dangerous areas and wanting to put some distance between them, she jumped up. Walking over to the fridge to see if there was any milk, she called over her shoulder, “I am much better today. Looking forward to getting my stuff back and maybe finding a permanent place to stay. Unless you want to trade out the chair in Liam’s room.”

“Sorry love, brother’s prerogative.” He tensed as if he was expecting her to call on some privilege of her own. Any good will Liam had gained for his treatment of her son was lost as she fumed about his indifference to the feelings of his own brother. When she remained quiet, he added, “You’re welcome to stay at my place though. After all, if Liam brought you home, you must practically be family and you’ll end up there anyway when they release him. You are most welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear last night.”

She wondered how long they could both dance around the topic without addressing the elephant in the room. She knew he was baffled about her sudden appearance in his brother’s life and out of everyone in this town, he had the most right to ask about it. She wasn’t sure she would be able to make it through the next couple of weeks without lying to him at some point but she wasn’t going to jump in with guns blazing so she would keep circling until he questioned her directly.

“Fine.” She took her time pouring her milk and when he shook his head at her silent offer to get some for him as well, she put the carton back and took up a position across the island from him. “If you don’t mind me staying there without you, I’ll take you up on it.”

Mary Margaret joined them before any other details could be sorted and the other woman’s disappointed face at losing her house guest so soon reminded Emma of when Henry was younger and pleas for more cookies went unheeded. Emma gratefully accepted her freshly laundered jeans that the woman had somehow managed to find time to clean, waving off her apology for not being able to salvage the shirt. Instead, she found a crisp, white linen tank that she was informed was a gift to welcome her to town.

She felt like a new woman coming downstairs in clean clothes and with several hours of sleep. Swearing on her honor to meet up with her hostess for lunch that weekend and awkwardly accepting her hug goodbye, she followed Killian down to his pickup truck without another word. He held her door as she climbed into the passenger side before making his way around the front and taking his own seat.

“I await your orders, Swan. Where to first?”

“If you think Liam will be resting for awhile, can we go by the station and pick up my stuff?” Luckily, Mary Margaret had provided a toothbrush last night but it would be nice to have the rest of her things. She had to suppress a chuckle at the thought that the deputy, David if she remembered correctly, would probably begrudge her the missed opportunity of making a visit to a certain brunette’s apartment.

Even though he kept his eyes on the road, somehow he picked up on her change in mood and asked, “Something tickled your fancy?”

“What’s her story?”

“Mary Margaret?”

“Yeah. Does she always pick up strays and bring them back to her apartment? I could have robbed her blind. It’s not safe to trust people like that,” she rambled as she took in the businesses that lined Main Street.

“I wouldn’t call you a stray and you don’t strike me as a thief,” he commented.

“You don’t know me,” Emma said darkly. She had been called that and far worse too many times and his casual observation caused her to stiffen in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen a bit too but she was distracted by the sign for the pawnshop they just passed. The closed sign hung askew in the front window and all the lights were off even though it was the middle of the day.

“I’d like to know you, Swan. In case you didn’t notice—bringing breakfast, my sparkling conversation, the dashing rescue from having to stay another night in Mary Margaret’s loft, which apparently you viewed as a fate worse than death—all my little ways of trying to get to know you.”

His exasperation struck her as funny. He was more dramatic than his brother and as much as she planned to struggle against and deny her attraction to him, she thought she might end up actually liking him. He pulled off the street into a parking lot and faced her. “Furthermore, Miss Swan, you’re the one who went home with her so perhaps you should have followed your own advice. Maybe she’s a serial killer and she lures her victims in with kindness. Or maybe deep down you know there are good people in this world and it’s better to trust, to risk the occasional mistake, than to hide behind walls.”

Well. She wanted to take offense but she was too stunned at the fact that Killian Jones truly saw her. And maybe through her. How he had figured her out so fast, she wasn’t sure. She felt exposed and, even more chilling, she felt understood. It was exciting and dangerous. Eyes wide, she twisted to face him and licked the corner of her mouth nervously. His focus shifted to her lips. It was getting warm, and not only because of this unexpected turn in their discussion. It was summer and they were sitting in direct sun. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

Smirking at her own reaction more than his, she asked, “Are you finished?”

“For now,” he said softly and it sounded like a vow wrapped in a threat. He faced the front again and turned off the truck. The muscle spasm in his cheek was back and she was a little ashamed at how much she had missed it.

“Great. Consider me suitably chastised. Good to know that sanctimonious speeches are a Jones family trait,” she said with a genuine smile before kicking open the door and leaving him behind.

—

It was more of a battle to get her personal belonging than it should have been. Luckily David showed up halfway through her argument with the man on duty and signed off on the release of all but one of their bags. Killian had brooded for a few minutes but eventually followed her into the station and helped carry the bags first to the truck and then into his place when they reached it.

She hadn’t had time to think about what his home would look like but the oceanfront cottage was much nicer than she would have pictured if she had tried. It occurred to her that while she knew he had a affair about a decade ago, that he could sword fight, that he had the most expressive face she had ever encountered, and apparently could read her like a book, she really didn’t know that much about him. Like what he did for a living that allowed him to afford a place like this.

In what she thought was a sage decision, she had backed off after their run-in or she would have given into her interest and asked him. He had been subdued during the ride and as a person who liked to lick her wounds in private she knew when she met a like soul so she kept things light. Complimenting the view and the peaceful color scheme of creams and blues, she took only long enough to drop her bag in the guest room before swiftly exiting his space and walking back to the truck.

He seemed a bit more like his earlier self by the time they reached the hospital. He offered to pick up some coffee from the cafeteria for them, probably thinking she’d want some time alone with Liam.

It was with some surprise that she found that Liam already had a visitor, although it appeared he was asleep and may not be aware of it. Emma heard a sniffle and saw the woman’s shoulders shaking and immediately tried to back out of the room to give them some time. It was a sound plan until she caught her injured side on the door handle with a loud crack and couldn’t stop herself from dancing around a little bit and whispering in hissed pain, “Crap! Crap! That really hurts!”

The woman came to her feet in one fluid motion, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand and looking embarrassed. She was beyond beautiful, her long white blonde hair cascading in loose waves down her back and wearing sky blue scrubs that looked like a ball gown on her. And unlike Emma, she was able to cry without looking like a complete wreck for the rest of the day.

“I’m sorry—“ they said at the exact same moment and then they both chuckled quietly, intent on not disturbing the patient. Emma took a deep breath, trying to work the pain out from the inside. It made her want to punch something because it hurt so bad. Refusing to give into it, she continued drawing air in and out slowly.

Once the stars that had sparked around her faded, she thought it safe to try to introduce herself. “Emma Swan.”

Before the other woman could reply, she heard Killian behind her. “Elsa, I would have brought you a coffee if I had known you were here.”

He moved past her and placed a quick kiss on Elsa’s cheek and offered her his cup. So, clearly a friend of the family Emma gathered. Move along, nothing to see here. Except she was pretty sure that crying at the bedside of an unconscious man was some next level stuff. Internally, she cursed Liam and his sneaky secrets.

“Oh I’m fine, Killian, I had a little break in my day and decided to check up on my newest patient,” she explained nervously, as if she owed Emma a reason for her visit.

Trying to ease some of the woman’s tension, she smiled kindly and guessed, “Are you a doctor here?”

“Physical therapist,” Elsa explained with a grin of her own and Emma was once again struck by how beautiful the woman was as she moved to stand next to her. If the physical therapy thing didn’t work out for her, she could be a model or a queen or a goddess.

“Liam will be in good hands then,” she replied, and then wondered if she said something wrong with the way both Killian and Elsa shuffled uncomfortably. Seriously, what the hell was the story here.

“Yes. Well, I should get going,” Elsa admitted, eyes not quite meeting Emma’s stare. Her smile for Killian was more natural though. She left quickly, a less graceful person than her would have been accused of trotting out of the room.

Blowing out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Emma looked over at Killian with a raised eyebrow. He was busy scratching behind his ear, a mannerism that made him look like a guilty toddler.

“I guess Liam told you about Elsa.” His gruffness showed he resented the situation his brother had put him in.

You and me both, Emma wanted to say. Considering she was reasonably certain that the ‘difficult circumstance’ Liam had mentioned during the road trip had just walked out the door as if the hounds of hell were at her feet, she didn’t think it was a lie when she said, “Of course.”

Because the fact was, calling what had evidently been a serious relationship a ‘difficult circumstance’ was probably as close as Liam would come to baring his soul anyway.

His shoulders relaxed knowing he wouldn’t be the one to break the news. Assessing her mood, he added in a disbelieving tone, “I assume by your peaceful air that you have no issues with Elsa, the love of his life, taking care of him during his convalescence?”

“Those weren’t quite the words he used when we talked,” she confessed, hating that she felt like she should be the one apologizing about this mess.

“He wouldn’t have with you, would he?” He looked chagrined, as if he suddenly realized that referring to another woman as the love of his brother’s life may have offended her.

“Not sure what you mean but to answer your question, I have no problem with Elsa doing her job.” There. Perhaps not the whole truth but she was getting better at skirting the lies. “We’re all grown-ups here, aren’t we, Jones?”

In a moment of blinding honesty, Killian said with a touch of awe, “I’m not sure what to make of you, Swan.”

“Good,” she laughed, the sound becoming a peace offering between them and allowing the rest of the afternoon to pass without any tension.

#ouat #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #cs ff

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94reasons · 4 years

Text

Art Without a Home [Pt. 1] | Minhyuk x Reader

Frustration replaced the air within these four walls like a plague as heavy brush strokes nearly tore through the unfinished canvas. The blank parts practically made fun of Minhyuk, refusing to soak up the watercolours of his imagination and embody his visions. His lungs, filled with an artist's inhibitions, deflated steadily as he exhaled the plagued air. The sound of a wooden brush echoed in his ears when he let it slide through his fingers, hitting the newspaper-covered floor. The splattered drops of a fading blue made the grey print crumple into little wet waves as it flooded last week's words. Minhyuk's long fingers were tugging nervously at the strings of the artist's apron that he now felt unworthy of. In the corner of his eye he noticed a shadow interrupt the sunshine that bathed the floor.

"It looks good so far," Jooheon announced after soundlessly appearing next to Minhyuk, nudging him to break the tension.

"Yeah, good for trash," Minhyuk mumbled in return, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't say that! What if Monbebe hear you?" Jooheon wiggled his eyebrows with a playful warning. The annoyed artist bit his lip, the nod of his head barely noticeable. He bent down to pick up the brush as Jooheon made himself comfortably quiet on the window bench after deciding to keep his friend company. This could go two ways - either his presence only makes him grow more nervous and puts more pressure on his painting or his gentle aura has a calming effect and results in decent artwork. Thankfully it was the latter.

There was no denying that he was talented, but he was too self-critical - especially when he couldn't find enough time to practice because the studio stole all his hours. The creative energy would eat him up on some days and there are only so many hours in a day to let it out. The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable silence that only brush strokes and the rustling of the spread-out newspapers interrupted. The room was growing dim with the sun that was off to make someone's day brighter on the other side of this wild world. The brush landed in the dirty water of the thick glass jar, letting a few drops readily spring out.

"It turned out great," Jooheon said in awe of the whale that came to life on the canvas.

"You think so?" Minhyuk looked over his shoulder, asking for affirmation. Jooheon must have nodded at least 50 times in those few seconds.

"Now let's go eat," he hopped off the window sill, rubbing his tummy as he left the room. When his steps faded out, Minhyuk grabbed his piece and walked over to the window where Jooheon had just been sitting moments ago. He opened it, leaning over to look at the open dumpster that was already the proud owner of some of his paintings. "Well," he sighed and dropped the newly painted work right in with the others before closing the window. He took off the beige apron and left to wash his hands.

"Are you ready?" he could hear Jooheon calling from outside the bathroom door.

"One second," he sang as he closed the tap and scrubbed his hands with the yellow towel.

"Haven't seen you all day, hyung," Changkyun mentioned as he put on his shoes next to him in the hall.

"Today is your lucky night then, you get to pay for my dinner now," Minhyuk chuckled, propping up after he'd quickly tied his shoes.

It didn't take them long before they were racing down the sidewalk towards their favoruite neighbourhood restaurant. In the rush with the handful that the rapper duo were, Minhyuk thought he'd seen something strange in someone's window. But that would be silly, it can't have been that.

#monsta x #monsta x imagine #monsta x scenarios #monsta x fanfic #monsta x reader #minhyuk #minhyuk x reader #minhyuk fluff #minhyuk fanfic #shownu #wonho #kihyun #hyungwon #jooheon #i.m

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kri-babe · 3 years

Text

Word Count | 1370 Content | Blood, horror Character[s] | Dmitrii

He'd been too distracted to notice it at first. Pulling himself from the rocky cavern that was no longer as it had been, and stumbling out onto the shore once more, Dmitrii was greeted by the ocean's cold, salty spray. The roar of the foamy tide as it lapped at those black sands into which his boots sank. On the grey horizon, in the vast, immeasurable distance, where sky and sea met, melting seamlessly together, there stood an enormous creature. A creature of unfathomable proportions!

Numerous legs to support its quadrupedal form, they disappeared beneath the waves whilst its body towered over them. His mind raced, and bright golds flashed intensely behind dirty, cracked, and stained glasses. Dmitrii likened the great beast to that of an insect. The head, body, a thorax, the many legs,, and many tendrils that were coming from its face. His heart raced as the ocean's frigid breeze whirled around him, earning small shivers that primarily went ignored by the stunned doctor.

The creature called out in an immense voice that echoed across the sea as if it were just before him. it was like whale song. Would that the creature were just before him. To see it... how it functioned... was it an herbivore? A carnivore? Or perhaps even an omnivore? Or, did it continue to defy all scientific logic; did it not eat? The size of the beast traversing the sea in the distance would demand immense volumes of food to keep it sustained!

Dmitrii staggered down the shore, stupefied by what he was witnessing. He only just barely noticed the beached corpse of a whale in his peripherals, and less did he notice what looked like a bite taken from the mammal. A bite easily the size of his torso... but, the closer he drew, the more he could not deny the sound of something... eating. The tearing of raw flesh and the working of powerful jaws.

Dₒ ₙₒₜ ᵣᵤₙ․

His vision blurred, and his forehead ached, the doctor grunted. It was the voice... the same cryptic, unnatural, and distorted sound that echoed from within his skull as it had before. It startled the bewildered doctor from his stupor and, flashing, golds darted from the being on the horizon to the corpse of the whale.

"Run? From what?" Dmitrii queried on a thick Russian accent.

His question was answered by a beast. Smaller than the wailing being in the distance, but bigger than him by at least three heads! It rose from the flotsam and jetsam behind the whale, and moved on two strong legs with long, strong arms that dangled near its bent knees. He could hardly tell what he was looking at; a fish? A man? A combination of the two?? Sleek, blue-grey skin, fins and spines, webbed fingers and feet. Not to mention the large black eyes and a false eyelid that flicked over them occasionally when the being blinked. An abomination, an affront to nature!

ₙₐₜᵤᵣₐₗ․․․ Wₑ ₕₐᵥₑ ᵦₑₑₙ ₕₑᵣₑ ₗₒₙg ᵦₑ𝆑ₒᵣₑ ₘₐₙₖᵢₙd․․․

"Stop!" Cried the doctor as the voice pervaded his thoughts again, violating his mind and blurring his vision.

Blood - he could smell nothing but the pungent scent of blood. The beast was covered in it... and with an awful mouth made of spirals of shark-like teeth. The creature stepped around the whale. Closer... closer... His heart raced, hammering his chest so loudly he was sure that this being could hear it too. his hands were shaking and his mind screamed at him to run! To flee! This creature was going to kill him! to such a monstrosity, he was surely no more than a fresh meal! A threat!

Dₒ ₙₒₜ ᵣᵤₙ․

His vision blurred every time this voice within spoke, but it knew not! Why would he trust this thing!? Mad! Dmitrii threw himself about, and dashed down the shore, the creature pursued him at an immense speed that made the young doctor wonder just how fast this thing was in the water. It thundered just behind him as he fled for the opening of a cave, having no idea about where he was going, but surely anywhere away from this beast was better!

Natural! What utter nonsense!!

The sands below his feet sank and twisted, as if to slow him down and perhaps they had. A clawed hand struck him from behind, shredding clothes and skin and it sent the doctor to the ground with a cry of pain. Blood seeped into the sands as he frantically turned over to face the horror that descended upon him. Wet, slimy, bloody, and very heavy. The doctor screamed and struggled, kicking and punching wildly but it was useless. The beast cleverly pinned his hands above his head and lowered itself over him, above the thrashing legs that kicked desperately at the sands, sending it everywhere in the process and digging gouges into the ground.

"Stop!! Let go of me!! Nyet, nyet!! Get off!" Bellowed the desperate doctor as he thrashed wildly about, like a mouse, caught by the cat.

The horrible, monstrous cat.

Dₒ ₙₒₜ ₛₜᵣᵤggₗₑ․

His head pulsed with pain and then it was his throat. Rows on rows of horrible teeth sunk into his flesh as easily as one might cut into a bar of butter. Blood gushed forth and filled the beast's maw. It ran down his throat, and chest, staining skin and clothes with the same ease that wine might. The screaming worsened, wild, raw, animal. The struggling grew immensely violent and then the screaming turned to gurgles and gasps. Sputtering, coughing, choking. The world darkened and slowly did his senses fade until everything was quiet.

․․․ Wₐₖₑ․

The voice... it was distant and muffled. As if perhaps in another room. Fingertips twitching faintly and his eyes moved behind their lids.

Wₐₖₑ.

Another command. Dmitrii scowled this time, grunting softly as he turned his head a bit to the side. he felt oddly weightless. Was he... perhaps dead? Had that creature taken his life? The sound of bubbles and water teased his ears. Underwater then? Had it dragged him beneath the waves to consume his body? It certainly felt cold... as if he were cradled by those frigid currents.

Another scowl, a grimace, and the doctor was pulling open gold eyes with a bright flash of light. bubbles rose around him, from him. They mixed with the murky glittering of sunlight that struck the surface of the water.

A slow inhale expanded strong lungs; Dmitrii slowly peered from side to side. rock formations, schools of fish, coral, derelict boats and planes... realization struck, and fear flooded the doctor's senses. He was underwater!! Dmitrii whirled and shot upwards for the water's surface but before he could break it, something impossibly strong wrapped itself about his ankle!

"Nyet! Stop!!" Snapped the young man as he began to struggle again. he was being pulled lower.

Slowly, deeper into the cold below. A desperate lunge downwards revealed a huge tentacle wrapped around his entire calf. It appeared nothing like the tentacles he'd seen on octopi or squids... this was... chitinous and richly colored. A gradient of black and purple with sharp, black spines jutting from its sides.

Cease your struggling.

Dmitrii was... momentarily stunned. The voice... it was... so much clearer. Louder, commanding, resonating from within every part of himself. As if this entire time, it had been beneath the sea, and that was why he couldn't hear it clearly.

"Y-you're mad!! Let me go, I'll drown!" Exclaimed the panicked youth.

Your fear blinds you... You have no noticed that you are breathing without disruption... Moving, unimpeded. The waters are clearer, are they not?

Glowing golds slowly scanned his surroundings. The voice wasn't lying... he.. he could breathe... he could see... Dmitrii stopped struggling, but scowled nonetheless. This didn't mean he trusted the voice...

"Why...? How?" Demanded the young man as he continued to examine his surroundings, a tentative hand coming up to investigate his throat, where the beast had bitten him open.

Had that... something to do with this...? The skin was sensitive... and mangled, but not open... healed?

Because I cannot act. Because you will act in my stead. You will be my Hand.

#writers of tumblr #drabble #was inspired the other day #after watching something on youtube #that i hated #lmao

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moonlightchess · 5 years

Text

(salt)

My brother and I grew up in a weathered gray house by the ocean, scrubbed raw and real by years of salt spray and howling winds. Daddy worked on the boats and we didn’t see him much, but after dinner on most nights my brother would play his violin. The sweet, high tones of it would float through the damp air weighing down the walls of our house like a sparkling thing, a moonlit shimmer illuminating a dark night. I would lie on his bed to listen, because he liked to play by the window of his room that faced the dark, churning ocean. There weren’t many bright, crowded beaches where we came from, and the ocean remained an icy, wild thing that crashed into our black shore with an ancient anger. My brother’s music always seemed to soothe the waves though, and our mother’s folk-dipped suspicion that he wasn’t entirely of her world was laced with more than a modicum of malice. Resentment, really.

He was around ten years old when he started walking into the ocean at night. It had been a year since Daddy had sent word from the fishing boats, and Mama told us that he’d been bewitched by some woman on some other shore, that he was gone forever. My brother played his violin and whispered to me in between the notes where Mama couldn’t hear that she was wrong. He’d leave his bedroom window open to the briny spray and inhale deeply of it, inviting me to do the same. His skin and eyes took on a glow, a soft light like stars on the water’s surface, like the bioluminescent things alien and bright beneath. I woke one night to the creak of his bare feet on our battered floorboards, and sat up in bed just in time for him to pass my bedroom door. He turned his head to look at me, eyes glinting in the dark so pale as to be colorless, translucent mirrors. Deep-sea-creature eyes.

He said nothing, and neither did I. But I went to my window and watched him, as he walked slowly, steadily into the frigid sea that had always framed our lives. He walked straight, confident, until the water swirled around his slim waist. He kept walking, until his pale hair disappeared into the black, until his shirt and pants floated loose and wet like enormous kelp leaves to the surface. He did not return, not in any way for me to witness anyway, but when I woke in the morning he was there with damp hair and wrapped in a profound sense of satisfaction like an aura, all but tangible. I knew he’d go again tonight, and a panicked loss seized me, but he curled cold fingers around mine under the breakfast table and smiled faintly.

That night, when he left, the quiet ticking of our grandfather clock all that lingered in his wake, I watched from the window again. The shadow of him was barely visible, and it could easily have been a trick of the night, but the splash of a rubbery tail where his feet had been moments ago was clearly audible. Some strange magic was taking place, taking hold of my brother, a little more every night. He started to bring me little gifts from the depths - pearls and shells and stories. Cities and civilizations lost, gills and fins on speaking creatures, and I watched the harshly sunlit grip of the world weaken from my brother. The tethers holding him to dry land were dissolving, sugar in tea, smoke in clean air. Mama’s hissing bitterness melted into crying when she thought we couldn’t hear, and on some days we’d find odd little poppets and herbs tucked into my brother’s pillow. He’d discard these with a patient smile, casting them into our fireplace while she cooked dinner, which he’d stopped eating.

She started forbidding me to spend time with him, but he’d slip notes under my door and he always played his violin down the hall to ease me to sleep before bed, before he left for the water. Mama told me that he, like the woman Daddy had left her for, was a bewitched thing, a wicked thing. I hoarded his gifts from the sea and ignored her, and seven years after the spell had begun to settle and form, she flung his violin into the fireplace one blustery February night. I was wearing his thickly knit sweater, gray as the storm-dense sky outside, something that seemed to miss her in her rage. She was screaming, and when he rose to his feet with that otherworldly light in his eyes, she shrank to see how much he’d grown. He was all long limbs and power by then, but this didn’t stop her for long.

Her hand rushed out and caught his cheek, the crack of the slap echoing through our small living room. He only tilted his head to one side and watched her, sad and sympathetic. The cut where her silver ring had caught his skin opened slowly, and the blood that oozed from it was thick, shimmering ink. Black like oil, a bead of it running down to his neck. Mama gasped softly, and the clock ticked, and she stumbled backward. He turned his head to look at me, and as the violin burned, so did his final anchor to our house and the world of lungs. I reached for him, and he leaned down to kiss my forehead and when he did, the whale songs flooded the house in deep, mournful waves of aching sound. I could hear the water when he was close enough, his lips pressed cold to the skin between my eyebrows.

He turned and left the house one last time, and the storm swallowed my anguished wailing as I ran after him. There was a decision waiting in the salt and lightning, and he only waited for a moment at the shore for me to make it. I crashed clumsily, wildly into the water, while he glided in smooth as a hot knife through butter beside me. But then, he’d had seven years to learn his other body, all thick muscle and blubber layered under mottled gray skin. Mama’s howling disappeared, swallowed as we dove, and when we breached again to watch the valiant little crabs attempting to scale the jetty walls far from the deepest, coldest parts of our new home, a pearl-gray dawn had broken and we too, were new.

#writerscreedchallenge #fantasy #mythology #selkies #fairy tales #writing #my writing #this is my first try but i've always wanted to tackle the selkie myth #and to write some kind of dark fairy tale #water #original writing #siblings

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star-birthmark · 4 years

Note

Hi!How are you?Do you accept request? May I ask for a MistaxReader with Bruno trying to cheer up Reader after a fight with Mista, and then the gunslinger arrives, see her crying and they finally kiss and make up? Thank you and sorry for the bother x

It’s not a bother at all! Lol, that’s the point of this blog! Thank you so much for requesting. This one was really cute too!

Moments of Mista: Mista x Reader (1.3k words)

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

“I can’t keep doing this Mista! You need to grow up!”

“Oh come on (y/n), you know I didn’t mean it!”

“I don’t know if I do! You’re constantly joking around! When are you going to learn to take things seriously?!”

Narancia looked up from his math work. Fugo glanced away from his book for a second, and Abbachio adjusted his headphone slightly, all of them not at all accustomed to hearing you say Mista’s name is anything other than praise. The two of you had been taking for a year or so and were so incredibly in love that the goth man felt like he was going to get a cavity from how sweet the two of you were to one another. The only one of the group that decided to take action instead of just listen to the two of you scream at each other was your loving capo, who stepped away from his work to turn the corner in the hideout to see Mista already leaving, slamming the door behind him as well. Buccellati, a man with a heart the size of a whale’s, watched as you placed a hand over your mouth and began to tear up, sitting on a couch in the living room, before you broke out in wet sobs. The man soon rushed over and sat next to you.

“(y/n)? What is it?”

“I hate him Buccellati! I hate him! I never wanna talk to him again!” The young capo sighed, not entirely sure what to do.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

He asked as you got up from your seat, beginning to pace back and forth in front of him, your chest swaying up and down rapidly as you struggled to catch your breath.

“He’s just so immature! I introduced him to all my friends and he kept making jokes about everyone and even told this one girl that I don’t like her, which is true at least, and now she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore…” Bruno raised an eyebrow.

“But you don’t like her… so how is it a problem?” You roll your eyes.

“The problem is that all Mista does is joke around and he doesn’t take our relationship seriously! I’m just one big joke to him! He takes you seriously Buccellati! Can you talk some sense into him? He listens to you! Tell me to grow up!”

Bruno gulped. “I don’t want to get in the middle of your relationship (y/n)…”

“Please, Buccellati! Help… what if we break up? What if we don’t speak again?!”

“Oh come on (y/n), don’t say that… You and Mista are perfect for each other.”

You looked up from your hands and through your hands to see your good friend giving you a bright smile of encouragement. You sniffle a little, your lip still trembling. Your capo hands you a tissue and soon blow your nose into it. Wincing a little, Bruno ignored your look of ugly crying.

“You think so? Are we perfect for each other?”

“Oh of course. You’re the only one of the whole group that laughs at his jokes. You told me when Mista first asked you out that the thing you loved most about him was his laugh. If you wanted a super-serious boyfriend, you wouldn’t have gravitated to much towards Mista anyway.”

You wipe your eyes on the back of your sleeves, but the tears still kept coming. Bruno sighed. He wasn’t making much progress.

“I just wish he would take this all more seriously… He treats us dating like we’re just a pair of friends. And then he gots and acts all embarrassingly in front of my friends. All my friends came up to me afterward and called me a little girl for taking such a toddler like him right in front of everyone, even him.”

Bruno scoffed, in shock that one of his best could face such criticism, before he opened his mouth to speak, gently giving you a hug to calm you down.

“A toddler huh? Come on. Sure, Mista is a bit of a goofball, but when it comes down to it, he carries out his tasks with effortlessness and precision that even I admire… Your friends don’t see the nights you and Mista spend staying up late together preparing for a mission, both of you are hunched over the dining room table talking while Mista feeds Sex Pistols some salami to keep them quiet.” You both giggle a bit at that part.

“And those moments where he’ll buy you cheap flowers from the grocer on the way home, or get dressed up for a date with you? Your friends don’t see the moments of Guido that you and I see (y/n)… You love him, don’t you? You should give some credit and make up with him…” You thought for a moment, muttered a yes through your tears, giving him a small smile.

“I know he means well… I should go find him…”

Neither of you was aware, however, that the same Mista had just walked back into the hideout in order to apologize for his behavior, only to see his leader and his girlfriend discuss the very same thing he wanted to apologize for. The gunslinger felt compelled to leave but instead decided to remain in the doorway, watching as Narancia ran over and yelled to Bruno that he had a phone call. Buccellati got up from his seat to answer the call, as did you to go find your lost love. Mista’s eyes widened and he tried to cut you off from leaving, walking in your path. You had been staring down at the ground absently walking until your forehead managed to collide into a familiar cashmere covered chest. You looked up to see Mista giving you a nervous smile, the charming man scratching the side of his head underneath his hat. Silence followed before he moved to speak.

“I’m sorry (y/n)… about earlier. I know I upset you.” You sighed, remembering what Bruno had said.

“I’m sorry as well Guido. I love you Mista, I shouldn’t have snapped at you… I fell for you because you’re still able to joke around in this dark world, and you’re like my breath of fresh air. I don’t care what my friends say, I’ve seen you be serious and put in the effort, so I shouldn’t have let what they said get to me so much. It’s you and me versus the world… I want to stay with you Mista, for a really long ti-AH!”

You yelped as Mista, overjoyed that the two of you had made up, picked you up and carried you over his shoulder, spinning you around in the open area of the living room. You cackled in laughter, your shorter form than his struggling to get out of his grip.

“Mista put me down! Let me go!” Mista bit his lip, mischief forming in his eyes.

“Alright.”

Gently setting you down, Mista made a quick move to give you a peck on the lips before you could object in annoyance. Smirking yourself, you soon wrap your arms around Mista’s neck and crash your lips on one another’s. A wild blush came over the teen’s face and his hand nervously moved to stroke your hair amidst the heated kiss. When the two of you finally let go, you both walk back to the couch and cuddled together. Mista continued rubbing your back as you leaned against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Buccellati came back from his call to see the two of you huddled together, a gentle smile coming to his lips as he left the room. The two of you sat in a loving smile. But of course, it didn’t last long.

“That Daria chick was really a bitch though…”

You roll your eyes, playfully smacking your boyfriend’s chest. “Not the point Mista. Not the point.”

#jjba #jjba hc #jjba writing #jojo #jojo writing #part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #guido mista #Bruno's gang #bruno buccellati #fluff #answers

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sweet-marie · 4 years

Text

excerpt of memoir from last year which i kinda hate now<3 but it has its moments

I decided I was going to drown myself. There was no plug to the bath, but that was easily solved by stuffing the washcloth down the drain. I climbed in and waited as the water rose pleasantly warm over the cold gooseflesh of my legs, short hair starting to prickle over them. This felt good. I didn’t remember exactly what Sylvia Plath had said, about baths, but I tried to remember it as the water closed around my ears.

In water I always felt calm as a whale. My swimsuit was like a fine blubber. My limbs would float, my cells swam around me. The microscopic composition of my body, narrowed down to those precise and perfect details, was invisible to me, an unknowable pile of nerves and jelly membranes. I can’t see my own eyes, of course, that’s a secret to me forever; the same way I can’t go looking around in the dark for my sight… I can see me in your eyes! I told a stranger, delightedly. I was four and the man was bobbing in the community pool across from me. I can see me in your eyes, he replied from behind his sunglasses.

I had a dream about a pool, said Leona, so large-eyed and beautiful, vulnerable, almost alien. So blue. It was—pristine. She loved to say the word.

She loved to make collages about the Holocaust.

Blood chased my feet in the shower at home—they were a pair of moon-white fish, speared by something, circling, dying…

Blood oranges water, not pinks it!

Thom told me this under the grim sky of the schoolyard, gray clouds pressing down on us. We had both refused to change our clothes to the PE uniform, and the others flocked around us in gray shirts. Blood oranges water—I thought to myself this was a good description and I had to remember it. She was right.

The warm bathwater was crowding in on me. Sylvia Plath had said something, I knew, in The Bell Jar—something about remembering the ceilings above the bath, maybe.

Water made such mysterious sounds inside my ears. I always liked it. I tried to breathe in, to gulp down the warm water and fill my lungs but I couldn’t manage it. I had already decided not to drown myself, after all. I didn’t want some nurse to find me naked anyway. I took a breath.

At home I had once tried to choke myself in the shower, my hands grasping my neck as I sobbed and spat into the water. You look fucking stupid, I thought, watching my face contort with tears in the foggy mirror. It was extremely satisfying to watch my eyes turn soft blobby pink, quavering with light. Yes, I was so sad. Yes! All these plans I knew wouldn’t work.

Well, it didn’t. And now I didn’t have a clean washcloth. Stupid.

I enjoyed it and decided to take a lot more baths from then on.

///

Leona, Happy, and Jennifer spent a lot of time on their collages. We were shepherded from C Unit to the art room through the soft winterlike light of the hospital halls. We passed the adult ward quietly. We never saw the adult patients, but they left some of their projects hanging in the art room, charcoal drawings mostly. They looked like self-portraits of ghosts. There were lots of National Geographics for Leona, Happy, and Jen: plenty of atrocities to choose from. The snowy black grain of dead bodies piled into a twisted unfathomable geometry of limbs; the sick, the starving and murdered. A headline about the heroin epidemic also. Jen was only allowed to post the word heroin on her wall if she added an e, which we all thought was hilarious.

What is so bad about methamphetamine? Happy asked. The conversation frequently became about drugs. All of us laughed a lot about the question. I didn’t know anything about drugs. Jen and Happy were busy one night making lists of the good drugs and the bad ones and they’d tried most of the things I’d heard of and some I hadn’t.

What is so bad about methamphetamine? It was a joke that was then repeated often.

One of the nurses said something like, Please change the subject, or, That is inappropriate.

Leona, Happy, and Jen were seventeen, the oldest of our friends; older than many of the children on the unit, young enough that they sometimes forgot to care what the little kids heard.

Johny, our youngest friend, was fourteen. He seemed the saddest. He had very long, skinny fingers like an old man. He told me that I had pretty eyes, sometimes blue sometimes green—when had anybody ever liked me this much, outside of this awful place. He said, My eyes are shit brown. I just laughed along. It didn’t occur to me to say anything nice, even though I would have meant it. My voice was tired; I’d fallen out of the habit of saying what I thought.

When Thom visited she talked enough that I didn’t have to say a lot. That was how it often was with us. She brought me a huge bag of my favorite sour candy, and flaming hot Cheetos for Esmeralda, my ten-year-old roommate. It wasn’t allowed, but we invited her to stay with us while Thom put makeup on me.

A muscle in Esmeralda’s cheek jumped, not working towards speech, just a violent, repetitive twitch I’d never seen before. I didn’t understand, somehow.

What? I said.

She covered her cheek with one hand. It’s a tic.

It didn’t go away even after we got her to laugh—a hesitant few syllables—at something, some joke. Thom’s hair was blonde and blue now. Sometimes, when she laughed the hardest, she used to press her face into my shoulder. I never knew what to do when people touched me. The first time she put her head on my shoulder we were watching Bolt on TV at her house and drinking bottles of orange Fanta, a blanket spread over our laps. She didn’t say anything, just leaned on me. I sat extremely still, so still it hurt. What do people do? I still haven’t learned.

Do you think I’ll go to hell if I kill myself? I demanded of my father.

You could, he said. You don’t know.

He held me and sobbed. You can’t. I couldn’t. Live without you.

I was so angry I didn’t know what to do. Anger rose in my mouth, made my spit sour. I needed him to let go of me. He was too warm, and his coat was too big. For the first time my mother had started looking so old. In some quieter country of myself, maybe, I have been saving up facts, how to recognize this look, how to gently handle remains.

///

The only outdoor part of the hospital was a courtyard sealed in glass, like an aquarium. It wasn’t much, but we were always begging to be taken there anyway, into the real gold light of the sun instead of our usual, indoor wintry fluorescence. And it got tiring to breathe the same dull air and pace the same few rooms, especially that day we were locked in for hours, while some men came in to do something about the mysterious dark stain spreading on the ceiling of the day room.

Everyone loved to go out. Even Celsa went sometimes, and she was so doped up on lithium she barely did anything, even breakfast. Bribes and threats did not work on her. I witnessed it firsthand in my brief duration as her roommate. She was always drowning in bedsheets, drowning in sleep like wet sand. Her eyes were dark with it. My friends gently urged her to come outside with us one night. Celsa gave a tired smile, peered out from under her hair, and agreed. She laughed a little when she played tag with the kids in the dark. She never really said a word. It is good to be with other people, it is not always easy to do. But—it was beautifully possible to have friends in this small, suspended space. I had not often felt when I was very young that I had friends. I felt too tall and serious to be a real child. Here, with our usual secrecy stolen from us, we met each other with our faces plainly lit and open, four floors above the real world.

It was possible to have friends. I’d been so sad. I never knew how to smile with my face leaned toward burning-down candles, opening my brightly-colored birthday presents. There were days, it was decided, you were supposed to be happier on certain days, and I just wasn’t.

A man with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen asked me, in the emergency room, what was wrong. I didn’t want my parents to overhear. I explained quietly about the stupid incident in the bathroom stall at school, the knit gloves over my wrists, and the thing with the Tylenol, and I did—other things… I started to cry. Sometimes I forced sobs out to get rid of the rising bad feeling, an intentional purge; and then there was this other kind of crying, which was different, and took me by surprise. I never knew it would happen until I had already started.

The psychologist with blue eyes looked very sad for me. All I wanted was sympathy; I was intensely hungry for sympathy almost all the time, from anyone, but this somehow made it worse, and I didn’t even know whether he meant it.

I was wheeled up in my hospital gown. I tried to walk, but they explained it didn’t work that way.

Up an elevator, through security gates, through locked doors; a woman’s hands flitted under my clothes, checking for blades, mapping injuries on a piece of paper. There was still cold glue on my chest from the EKG. They’d wanted to examine my heart. There was nothing wrong with my heart. I just couldn’t stop its sickening, wild beat.

It was night, but I was allowed in the day room, wide and silent and dark. I opened the refrigerator—mostly juice. A few months ago, my mother and I had fought, and as I bent my head over some homework that night she silently moved my glass of cranberry juice away from my textbook, so it wouldn’t spill on it. And horrible hope and guilt rushed through me, because I knew she loved me.

I didn’t even like juice. I closed the door and went to a table.

I started drawing pictures because I didn’t know what else to do. I liked to keep my hands occupied, all the time. At first, no one was there, but then there appeared a small gathering of curious children, and Johny.

All the children began to ask, Will you draw me? Will you draw me?, and Johny smiled and cast his dark eyes down.

I asked Esmeralda if she wanted me to draw her, but she started shaking her head before I could finish the question.

Draw me, demanded Rain, a little girl in pajamas and gym shoes.

I did, I did draw most everyone, lots of times. It has been my impulse to give myself away freely, without thinking. I tell people nearly all of my secrets. Here: I won’t need this. I will be going away.

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Drink the Wild Air (4/?)

IN WHICH We learn more about Lieutenant William Jones, and the ship he is now a part of, and MYSTERY IS FORESHADOWED.

SUMMARY: Once upon a time a princess fell in love with a pirate. This is their story.

A Captain Duckling high-seas adventure tale in which princesses are kidnapped (OR ARE THEY), sea battles are fought, SWASH is BUCKLED and CASTLES are STORMED.

(also EVIL is VANQUISHED and FAMILIES are REUNITED)

For @thisonesatellite (who is somehow more delightful in person than over the internet,) @ohmightydevviepuu who is the best cheerleader, and @katie-dub who is always the loveliest.

@darkcolinodonorgasm @kmomof4 @teamhook @stahlop @mariakov81 @resident-of-storybrooke @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @xarandomdreamx @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82

(please do say if you would like a tag or if you would like not a tag)

(Also on AO3) (Tumblr: Part One | Part Two | Part Three)

PART THE THIRD: LIEUTENANT WILLIAM JONES:

Lieutenant William Jones concluded, after some consideration, that he was not especially surprised to learn that life on a pirate ship was not so very different from life on a ship in service of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. A ship was a ship, after all; the same tasks needed to be performed to keep her afloat, the same command structure had to be enforced, and even the mission goals were not terribly dissimilar. The line between plunder and conquest was a very fine one, comprising delicate questions of politics in which Lt Jones took no interest. All he wanted was to sail and to see the world, and the company he kept whilst doing so mattered little.

There were some aspects of his new pirate’s life that did surprise him. The ship they sailed was an exceptionally fine one, with impossible speed and manoeuvrability which he soon deduced could only be the result of enchantment. Once going she could maintain her momentum even without wind, and after a few weeks’ careful observation of how her captain handled her, the lieutenant began to wonder if the crew was in fact necessary at all.

Captain Jones kept his ship in pristine order and condition, and commanded the crew with military-grade discipline. So far as he had ever considered the question, Lt Jones imagined pirates to be an unruly lot, unwashed and obstreperous and prepared at any moment to mutiny. Instead they —or at least those on the crew of the Jolly Roger— were meticulous and tidy and their respect for their captain showed in every action they took.

There was quite a lot of carousing, however.

And yet the only thing that truly astonished the young lieutenant was the princess. Quite apart from the extraordinary fact of a princess sailing with pirates at all, it was obvious from his earliest days among the crew that they loved her nearly as much as their captain did, and there was never any muttering about the bad luck of having a woman on board or any challenge to her authority or her place on the ship. She knew each member of the crew by name, and greeted them with a warm smile and and jest that was as effective at keeping discipline as the captain’s more traditional approach. And while Lt Jones believed that the princess’s warmth and interest were genuine, he also saw the strategy behind her actions. She needed this ship and its crew for something, some purpose far outside the usual purview of a pirate ship, and the best way to ensure the crew’s cooperation in unusual or trying circumstances would be to win their loyalty.

His first few weeks aboard the ship were spent in the infirmary, definitely a surprising experience for the young lieutenant. Infirmaries on naval vessels were grim places where the stench of blood and rotting flesh was infused into the very walls and men were as like to die of disease as of any injury sustained in battle. The infirmary aboard the Jolly Roger was, by contrast, utterly pristine, with cots covered in clean linen and instruments crafted of gleaming metal and air that carried a sharp, astringent odour, not wholly pleasant but compared to the putrefaction the lieutenant was accustomed to, vastly to be preferred. It was run with an iron fist and an air of benign insanity by a man who introduced himself as “Whale” and did not amputate Lt Jones’s leg.

Lt Jones, who had already resigned himself to the loss of his limb, found he was almost disappointed. He’d been rather enjoying the notion of himself as a proper peg-legged pirate. But Whale informed him, with a grin that exposed rather more teeth than seemed appropriate for a human head, that there was no need to waste a perfectly useful and very well-formed body part, and proceeded to hand Lt Jones a rag soaked in liquid and wafting fumes with the same pungent aroma that permeated the air and instructed him to hold it to his face. This he did, hesitantly at first and then with greater enthusiasm as the edges of his vision blurred pleasantly and his body went numb, and he he began to fancy he was floating.

He watched with detached curiosity as Whale deftly reset the crushed bone in his leg, secured it within a splint constructed of thin and flexible slats of wood then wrapped the whole affair up with strips of fine linen dipped in a substance that looked like wet clay, watery and pale grey, mottled with specks of green. After twenty-four hours this clay had dried to form a remarkably solid and resilient cast, and Whale’s pallid face wore a pleased expression as he rapped his knuckles up and down the length of it.

“Hmm, yes,” he said, nodding in approval and flashing a grin that raised goose pimples on Lt Jones’s arms. “That will do nicely.”

From the infirmary’s supply closet he produced a selection of wooden crutches, which he proceeded to measure against the lieutenant’s back until he found the one best suited to his height. This he instructed Lt Jones to use to take daily exercise on the decks, along with a regimen of lifting, bending and stretching designed to keep his muscles strong and limber and his joints flexible. Lt Jones followed these instructions to the letter and after a week or so Whale permitted him to spend several hours a day performing menial tasks alongside the crew, provided they did not result in getting his cast wet. The remainder of each day he spent in the infirmary, resting and drinking cups of bitter tea at regular intervals under Whale’s glittering and watchful eyes.

After several weeks of this routine Whale pronounced that the time had come to remove the cast. He began by making a fissure down the length of it with a hammer and a tiny chisel, then gripped it tightly on either side and wrenched the whole thing apart into two equal pieces like the shell of a walnut, revealing a perfectly healed and unscarred leg within.

Lt Jones stared at it. “But— how?” he stammered.

“Healing herbs in the clay,” said Whale. “Among other things.” He gave the empty teacup in Lt Jones’s hand a significant glance and grinned his jovial, manic grin, and Lt Jones reflected that perhaps the prospect of leaving the infirmary, hopefully for good, was not at all a bad thing.

Once Whale had swabbed the clinging bits of clay from his leg with a clean linen cloth dipped in another mysterious solution, Lt Jones stood from his cot and gingerly put weight on his newly healed limb. Finding it as hale and whole and sturdy as ever, he began to walk around the room, at first cautiously then with more confidence, even capping his tour by dancing a little jig.

“Excellent,” said Whale, his pale eyes glinting. “I’ll have to remember that formulation. Most, most excellent.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door and the quartermaster’s mate appeared, holding a stack of fresh and neatly folded clothes for Lt Jones plus his own shoes, cleaned and shined. Gratefully abandoning the split trousers and single slipper he had worn for the duration of his convalescence, Lt Jones dressed quickly and followed the quartermaster’s mate, a man called Teynte, to the crew’s quarters where he found waiting for him his own bunk, sea chest, and leather flask.

“Bunk t’ sleep, chest t’ keep, and flask t’ drink, said Teynte cheerfully.

Lt Jones sniffed the flask dubiously. “Drink what?” he asked.

“Grog, o’ course,” said Teynte. “The cap’n’s right generous wi’ it.”

“Grog? You mean rum.”

“Aye, rum ’tis, along wi’ lemons and a touch o’ sugar. Ye’d best drink it, Navy lad, it keeps ye healthy, so it do. There be times, weeks on end as can be, when we sees no food but fish and ship’s biscuit, ye’ll be grateful fer a spot o’ grog then t’ stave off th’ scurvy.”

“Hmmm,” said Lt Jones. “I see your point.” Scurvy was rampant in the Queen’s Navy and he had witnessed with his own eyes the suffering it caused. Raising the flask first in toast to Teynte’s good health and then to his lips he took a cautious sip. The liquid was sharp and burned down his throat, but it was not altogether unpleasant. He sipped again, more generously. “I believe I could get used to this,” he said with a grin.

“Haha! We’ll make a pirate o’ ye yet, laddie!” cried Teynte with a clap to his back that nearly sent him reeling. “Reckon the princess be right about ye.”

Lieutenant Jones had of course noticed—it hadn’t taken him long—that he was the object of particular scrutiny from both the princess and the captain. More than once he had felt their eyes upon him as he did his daily exercise on the deck, and each had—separately and, he suspected, without the other’s knowledge— stopped in to see him in the infirmary, with overly casual airs and subtle but pointed questions concerning the progress of his recovery.

A month or so after he had fully taken up his duties aboard the ship he began to get an inkling of the purpose behind their interest. The day was a bright and sunny one, freshened by a cool, salty breeze that bore a hint of spice, and Princess Emma and Captain Jones were up on deck for one of their regular sparring sessions. The crew, though they mostly succeeded in appearing to keep their attention on their tasks, watched closely, Lt Jones among them. A very active and hotly contested betting pool on the outcomes of these sessions flourished below decks; although they nearly always ended in a draw, as Smee informed Lt Jones, the crew held out hope that some day one of the two of them would actually manage to defeat the other. And on that halcyon day one of the crew would make a killing off it.

A pirate’s life indeed.

Lt Jones could not help thinking that today was likely not that day. In swordplay as indeed in most things the combatants were remarkably well matched, with the captain’s greater height and strength balanced perfectly by the princess’s speed and precision. What amused him more than any speculation over who—if anyone—might win was the way they sparred with words as well as with blades, taunts and innuendoes flying fast and thick as they feinted, thrust, and parried. When the match ended—in a draw, of course—both participants were panting and dripping sweat, and eyeing each other in a way that made Lt Jones long for some shore leave.

However on that morning rather than ushering the princess to their cabin and bolting the door behind them, Captain Jones approached his lieutenant of the same name, and offered the younger Jones his blade.

“Care to have a go, lad?” he asked, with a quirked eyebrow and a small grin.

“Against the princess?” stammered Lt Jones.

“Aye.” The captain’s grin widened. “Think you can handle her?”

“Er… no, if I’m honest.”

Captain Jones laughed. “That is the correct answer, my boy. Try anyway. Show us what you’ve got.”

Lt Jones stared at the man, searching his face for any sign of trickery. When he detected none he cautiously accepted the proffered sword and gave it an experimental swing. Though far from an expert in sword design he could tell instantly that the balance of the blade and the hilt was perfect, the result of expert craftsmanship. He swung it again, trying to get a feel for it. Princess Emma stood watching him with an amused expression and casual posture, though it did not escape his notice that she stood on the balls of her feet with her shoulders back, prepared at any moment to spring into action.

“Ready to go, Lieutenant?” she asked.

He bowed. “When you are, Your Highness.”

She attacked first, leaping smoothly into the exact move he had expected her to make, with such a speed and skill that he was only barely able to parry it. Their blades met with a clang of metal and he felt the vibrations all the way up his arm. Her slender appearance was deceptive, he realised; she was far stronger than he’d thought, with a skill that could only come from many years of training under the tutelage of a master. He was in way, way over his head.

On the strength of that realisation, he altered his strategy. This was not a fight he could win, not through skill at any rate, but he might be able to bring it to a draw. She was tired from her earlier sparring with the captain, but he was fresh, and if he could just avert a killing blow he might be able to outlast her.

He concentrated on deflecting her attacks, holding her off but never moving in himself, never giving her the opportunity to dart in around him as he swung his sword arm as he had seen her do to the captain. He danced around the deck, forcing her to chase him as she advanced, defending, defending, defending until finally she held up her sword.

“All right,” she said. “I’m calling it. It’s a draw.”

Her next words were quiet, drowned out by the cheers of the crew. They were for his ears alone. “A draw in this case means you won,” she said. “Well played.”

“Well played indeed,” said Captain Jones, clapping him on the back. “You’re quite a clever lad, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so, sir.”

“And one with a sound instinct for survival.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Captain Jones squeezed his shoulder. “Excellent.” A look passed between him and the princess, one Lt Jones could not decipher. “Well, now you’ve had your fun, Lieutenant, I’m afraid it’s back to work for you!”

“Aye, sir!”

The captain turned away and put his arm around the princess’s shoulders. Hers slipped around his waist and they headed off to their cabin together.

Three weeks later, Lt Jones received a message summoning him to the captain’s quarters. He presented himself to Mr Smee, who was standing guard outside the door and gave it a sharp knock on his behalf, and was bade enter by a curt ‘Yes’ from within. Smee opened the door to reveal the captain sitting at his desk with maps and documents strewn out around him, and the princess standing at his side with her hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, young Jones,” said the captain. “Right on time. Come in and shut the door behind you.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #enchanted forest au #captain duckling #adventure #buckling of swash #and intrigue #much intrigue

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teamhook · 4 years

Text

A Chapter a Day... Savage Heart CS AU

This story will be finished by the end of the month. :)

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the awesome @ilovemesomekillianjones

|AO3| |FFN| previous chapter

|AO3| |FFN| current chapter

Chapter 11: Getting To Know You, The Real You

"How did you end up with the job of giving me a tour of the estate and making me feel welcomed? Last time I saw you, we were at the convent, not being extremely friendly if I recall correctly," Killian asks as he sits in front of Emma while drinking his tea.

Emma looks at him closely and answers, "Well, August's mother Cora isn't feeling well. I know the estate well enough to have been tasked with the job no one else here can fill."

"I suppose, I forget you were groomed to be the perfect little wife for August. I imagine that included being familiar with the estate."

Emma looks away for a brief second and answers, "Yes, I was groomed by Cora to be the perfect wife she thought her son would need. In the end, it didn't work out."

"I too know the feeling of rejection all too well. I went away on a business trip thinking on my return I would wed the woman I love, only to return to find out that the woman I love had given herself to another in marriage."

"She told you she would marry you?" Emma asks as she looks around to ensure no one is listening. "Are you finished with your tea, Mr. Jones?"

"Mr. Jones? Hmm, I like the sound of my name on your lips." He realizes his comment makes her uncomfortable and adds, "Sorry lass. I apologize for the improper comment. To answer your question, yes she did."

Emma smiles, rolls her eyes and gestures to his cup.

"I'm done."

"There is more I need to show you," Emma says.

Killian bites his bottom lip, holding back the comment that naturally wants to come out.

"August mentioned he met you as a young boy. Do you remember anything about your stay here at that time?" Emma asks.

"I wasn't here that long, love," he answers.

"Yet August cares for you deeply and sees you as a true friend," Emma says trying to guilt Killian. She hopes that reminding him of their childhood friendship will deter him from whatever plans he may have.

"Ah, perhaps he does."

Soon Killian is walking after Emma out of the house. She is pointing to different areas of the ranch. The estate consists of vast farmland and to fill the awkwardness as they walk along, they keep talking.

"How long were you here? I used to visit often and I don't remember seeing you."

"Hmm, I was here for maybe a couple of months. Once Mr. Booth passed his wife kicked me out. I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to August."

"Why would she kick you out, did you do something?" Emma asks and adds, "She has always been so generous, and I cannot believe she would just toss you out."

"Automatically you assume I did something? I was a child, I had lost my father. Mr. Booth generously gave me his last name and you spontaneously believe me to be at fault?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Emma starts as she sees Killian getting upset, "It is hard for me to believe from my experience with Cora, but if you say that's what happened, I believe you." Emma reaches to touch his hand as she says her apology.

Killian looks down at where they are connected and finds her touch soothing. "No need to apologize. Just like everyone else, Mrs. Booth never allowed me to forget I was nothing, all she saw me as was a simple charity case."

Emma is rubbing little circles on his hand, though she doesn't even know she is doing it. As they walk, they come across some of the workers huts and hear someone screaming in pain. They look at each other before hurrying to the door. They find a man bloodied, lying on a cot. Emma looks at Killian, her big green eyes tearing up at the sight. "We need to call the doctor," Emma says urgently.

Killian kneels next to the man. "He was beaten like an animal. These wounds are not older than a day."

Emma asks, "Who would do such a thing?"

Killian laughs as he is getting a rag wet and cleaning the blood from the man's body. "Who is in charge? Or can you not believe your perfect August could be responsible for this?"

"August is not a cruel man. Someone else must be responsible," Emma insists.

"People from your class, like August and Cora only see their workers as pawns, worthless and disposable."

"I know you believe I'm too sheltered and you are correct, but I do have my own opinions. Even though everyone has blood inside them, there are only a few that are more fortunate. Some people lack things that others have plenty of. Some have nothing, and deserve it, and those that have everything their heart's desire don't deserve it."

"Maybe heading to the main house now and getting a doctor out here would be more beneficial to the poor bloke than breaking your romanticized illusions of August Booth," Killian says as he grabs Emma by the arm and pulls her toward the door.

"I don't understand your obsession with Milah if you hold 'our' class in such low opinion," Emma says as she walks with him to the main house.

"Milah was my chance at a happy ending. Women want a man with money and power. No woman wants a man without a last name or financial stability to care for her. I have only one of the requirements. I can offer a comfortable life, not one in the league of Booth, but a nice life. The surname is my mother's. My father didn't see me worthy of his. But that is a long story," he says and adds, "too long for now."

Emma looks at him as she hurries to keep up with him. "I'm sorry," Emma says.

Killian slows down to look at Emma, she is not judging him for his misfortunes. He has no idea why he is sharing so much with her. "I have known Archie since I was young. He thinks it's my choice to not marry and to live my life as is. He doesn't understand that it is not only my decision. I ask you, what honorable woman wants to be saddled with a man like me? Don't you think I would love to marry and have a family? Milah accepted me as I am, and then she changed her mind. What she took from me no one can replace." Killian's jaw clenches as he speaks his troubles aloud.

"What did she take away from you?" Emma asks as the reach the main house.

"The same thing August took from you, hope."

Emma pauses for a second and calls out for the Booth's maid. "Enith, please go fetch Dr. Whale. There is an injured man in one of the worker huts." Emma smiles as she gives her order.

"Oh, I need to make sure it's alright with Mrs. Booth for me to leave," Enith says.

"Enith, the man is in bad shape. August gave instructions for our orders not to be questioned. Mrs. Booth is not feeling well, therefore you will follow our instructions or am I to inform August that you didn't follow his?" Emma's tone is firm, surprising even herself.

Enith glares at Emma and says, "I will leave to go get Dr. Whale."

He's in awe of Emma taking charge, and he tells her as much. "I'm impressed, Emma," Killian tells her in a soft voice filled with admiration and pride.

Emma looks at him and says, "I'm sorry. I should not have been so harsh with you the last time we met. You are not exactly what I expected. Did you know I shared a room at the convent with your friend, Tink? She thinks the world of you. To be honest, at first, I thought she was biased because of her obvious feelings for you, but now I see, there is more to you." Emma starts to walk away and says, "I'm going to get some supplies that may be useful when Dr. Whale arrives."

When she comes back with some clean rags, Killian is standing just outside the door waiting for the Doctor's arrival. He looks lost in thought. He must have heard her approach and turns to face her.

Emma joins him outside. "I need to make sure that your room is prepared. August wants you to be comfortable. He also mentioned that there is housing in the estate for the steward, but that he will take care of that in his return."

Killian smiles and looks intently at Emma as he says, "Of a gentleman, as you can see all I have are the clothes. But, I also want to tell you that if I'd had you, only becoming blind, deaf or an imbecile would I have left you for another woman, much less for a whore like your cousin."

Emma stares at Killian in disbelief as they wait outside for Enith and Dr. Whale.

Cora peers outside her window at the sound of voices. She notices the resemblance between Killian and her late husband. In a moment of panic, she rushes to her locked trunk, frantically struggling with the key she hides close to her heart and finally is able to open it. She digs until she finds what she is searching for, a letter. The same letter Brennan had written to Archie in hopes to acknowledge Killian as his first born son to be precise. She should have ridden herself of such damning evidence then. If it was to be found out now her son would have to share his inheritance with that bastard.

She knows there are still workers who knew Brennan, what if they notice the resemblance? She might need to force them into retirement. Sure she had heard rumors of Killian's good looks, but she had never been curious enough to see for herself. He truly has too much of his father in him, more than August. She is baffled how August could not see it? Then she remembers August hasn't seen Killian, Archie had made the arrangements. Her attention is drawn back to reality and the commotion outside.

They stand outside of the Booth main house while the doctor checks on the patient. Killian is watching Emma sway back and forth she is so nervous. The doctor had finally arrived and now they were waiting on his prognosis.

"The man was beaten badly, in addition, he has pneumonia and it has not been taken care of. If he makes it, it will be a miracle," Dr. Whale says as he hands Emma medication for the employee.

How could they treat their workers so poorly? "Thank you, I will make sure he takes it," Emma says confidently.

"Pneumonia is always dangerous and you have to take into consideration the poor physical state that he is in as well. If he makes it through the night it will be a good sign, but he will need much care," Doctor Whale says.

They head to the little hut where Emma administers the medicine to the ailing man.

"Emma, you have to know that there is a chance he may not make it," Killian tells her.

"I have faith he will," Emma says.

"If he makes it, it will not be because of divine intervention, it will be because of your care," Killian says as he holds Emma's hands within his. He slowly lifts her hands and places a soft kiss on each as he keeps his piercing eyes on her.

After showing Killian to his room, Emma is walking to her mother's room to wish her a good night and is stopped by Cora.

"Emma, I couldn't help notice that you spent all day with the pirate," Cora says.

Emma looks at Cora and responds, "I was only following August's instructions. He mentioned that you were not feeling well and for me to make sure Mr. Jones felt welcomed."

"I wonder how welcomed you make him feel. You two looked very cozy," Cora says and walks away.

Emma stares after the woman who had always shown such affection to her, and now her current attitude is the opposite.

Cora heads to Killian's room. She is assuming that there is much more to what is being said. She knocks loudly on his door.

Killian opens the door and is surprised to see Cora.

"What do you want in exchange to leave the grounds?" Cora asks.

Killian only smirks and responds, "I will not be leaving without what belongs to me."

Cora is stunned he knows he is the elder son of Brennan.

"I can have my husbands' last name reinstated as yours and money alongside a beautiful honorable bride," Cora says.

"I don't need your husband's surname or for you to find me a wife," Killian answers. He is confused by Cora's offer.

"Think about it, don't discard the idea," Cora says and walks out.

Killian stands dumbfounded. It is an interesting proposition. He could marry and accept the money. He would appear less threatening. Perhaps this could work for his benefit.

All Cora can think of is that she needs that bastard gone. Her son will not share his inheritance with that lowlife. She knows Emma still cares for her son. She will use that to push her to make the decision to protect August. Cora decides to apologize to Emma for her behavior and plant a little seed. She is not blind, she saw how Emma and Killian had interacted. She arrives at Emma's door and knocks softly.

"Darling girl, please forgive my attitude from earlier. I know it is not an excuse for my poor behavior, but it is not a secret that I'm not happy with the presence of Killian Jones in my home. I know for a fact that he is only here because he covets all that my son possesses. He will take everything that is within reach. If August was to know of his true mission here, I cannot imagine what would happen. All I wish is to find a way to protect the family. I even offered him some money among other things for him to take his leave. If only somehow, someone could find a way to protect us from whatever that man is up to. Sorry to bombard you with my concerns. Good night sweet girl."

Emma watches Cora leave her room and quickly comes to the conclusion that Cora must know of the prior relationship between Milah and Killian. What else could Killian want that August has?

Tagging:

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