#Darkness rewrite

[anmylica]

Fly With The Black Swan

Tagging the Usual Crew: @kmomof4 @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells @sotangledupinit @zaharadessert @whimsicallyenchantedrose @deckerstarblanche

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Summary: Captain Hook has finally returned to the Enchanted Forest after an all-too-long stint in the Enchanted Forest, ready to get his revenge, only he’s too late. His Crocodile has been killed by another, but the demon partially responsible for his Milah’s death remains. He sets out, determined to kill the demon once and for all, but a life or death situation puts him right in the demon’s clutches. Reluctantly, he joins the new Dark One, finding himself falling for her against his will and his motivations change. Now, he needs to save this woman from the same demon that killed his first love, and he plans out a way to save her.

But the Darkness has plans of its own.

CSSNS ‘23 Entry. Based on the Sonata Arctica song “Fly With The Black Swan”

Note: I have no idea if this is going to post or not. I am currently in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico with crappy satellite internet and none of my other attempts have gone through. Seriously, I’ve tried it a million times by this point. Maybe this time is the charm? I guess we’ll see. If it does post, I will be editing this Saturday to clean it up when I get home.

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The Jolly Roger landed hard in the ocean waters with a great splash that sent droplets of water into the air and on the deck, drenching most of her crew in the process. Captain Hook stood at the helm, seemingly unaffected by the wake, scanning the seas for any danger, always on his guard. He took a deep breath, turning his face up to the sun high in the sky, practically tasting the ocean on his tongue and thought, ‘This is what freedom smells like.’ The sails glittered with the remnants of the last vial of pixie dust he would ever have to use to get his ship airborne for a sojourn back to the Enchanted Forest again.

He had just spent countless years sailing the never ending circle of Neverland’s waters in the reluctant employ of a demon in a child’s body, never seeing the sun except for when he was Pan’s errand boy on a supply run back to the Enchanted Forest. His years under the deal with Pan were finally complete, and he felt that he had enough information to achieve his true mission: skinning his Crocodile.

Captain Hook stared at the cloudless sky, pondering his next steps as his first mate, William Smee, blundered about giving orders to the others. His crew scurried about letting out sails, hauling in lines, securing their goods, and generally making preparations to sail to the destination their captain ordered. Throughout the hustle and bustle, their captain stood stoic at the helm. He did not steer; his helmsman, Antonio Buckham, had the pleasure of directing the ship, and he stood with his hands tight on the wheel and his eyes on his captain’s profile, awaiting orders.

Hook’s forget-me-not blue eyes finally left the horizon and focused upon the map in front of him. If he had landed his ship in the location he had wanted, then he was just due south of Glowerhaven. This was a pirate-friendly port, and it was going to be the best place at which they could restock their supplies. He looked over at Buckham, who stood anticipating his orders.

“Make way to Glowerhaven,” Hook ordered, and Buckham nodded once.

“Aye, Captain,” he responded, turning to the rest of the crew before bellowing, “Make way to Glowerhaven!”

The crew repeated the order, and Buckham turned the wheel slightly as the others adjusted the sails. Through it all, Hook said nothing else, just watched the sea and the sky pass them by as they sailed towards their port of call. It was a sunny day with nary a cloud in the sky. A good wind at their backs filled the sails and carried them over the water so smoothly it was as if the ship was flying over the waves. All around the deck, his crew carried out their orders, bringing them into the port where they could find a tavern and food and relish their newfound freedom. Hook surveyed the work with disinterest, for so long as they arrived at their destination without issue, it did not matter to him how his crew did their jobs.

His cold, hard, forget-me-not blue eyes watched ahead of the bow as the land of the Enchanted Forest appeared in view. His jaw clenched at the sight. It was there that he would finally fulfill his life’s purpose. As the land grew closer and the short skyline of Glowerhaven became more distinct, he was filled with a sense that, at last, he was on the path for his vengeance. He was about to find his happy ending, however bittersweet it may be. A determined, almost manic glint filled his eyes, and his crew gave him side glances and moved away from him, hoping to avoid his ire, though he paid them no mind.

An hour later, The Jolly Roger had been docked into her berth, the crew had all left, and those tasked with her watch were settled in for a few hours. Hook was the last to leave, wanting to make sure everything was just so. He sauntered down the alleyways between buildings into a tavern at which he had long since been a patron. He knew that the last pieces of his plan could be crafted with information the owner likely had.

He opened the door and stepped inside, scanning the room for any potentially unsavory situations. The room was dimly lit and dirty, much like all portside taverns throughout the realms of the Enchanted Forest. Rough hewn tables of various sizes filled the room and stools of varying heights were haphazardly placed by each table. There weren’t many people occupying the tavern at this time of day, and so most of the tables were empty. His crew occupied a few, already having drinks and food delivered by several barmaids. The bar was manned by a lone attendant, and it was to her that he made his way.

He slid onto a stool at the bar in front of her with a beguiling grin on his face. The old woman scoffed and rolled her eyes, but she moved closer, grabbing a bottle of rum and a glass on her way.

“What are you scallywags doing here,” she demanded, plunking down the bottle and glass roughly. She looked over her glasses at Hook and stared him down, causing him to grin even wider.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend,” he responded, moving to open the bottle and pour himself a finger’s width of rum. He had no plans on getting drunk, but he wasn’t about to turn down the libation.

“You’re hardly a friend,” she retorted, causing him to laugh.

“A patron then,” he amended. “A well-paying patron.”

The woman surveyed him hard and then nodded. “What do you want, Hook?”

He shook his head slightly as he raised the glass to his lips and knocked back the measure of rum. “Many things,” he said, placing the glass back on the bar. “Mostly, I’d like information at the moment.”

The woman crossed her arms. “I ain’t got information.”

Hook smirked. “Come, now, Granny, you and I both know you’re the best there is at collecting information. And we both know how valuable I find it.”

He took out his coin purse and very deliberately counted out five doubloons. Granny watched him as he did so, quirking an eyebrow at him before sighing.

“You want to know about the Dark One’s movements,” she said, grabbing a second glass and pouring herself a measure of rum.

“Aye.” Hook eyed her with curiosity, as this was definitely out of the norm for their usual pattern of conversation.

Granny took a sip of her drink and met his eyes. “You’re a bit behind the times.”

“How so?” Hook questioned, leaning closer to the old woman, a frown on his face at Granny’s implication.

“The Dark One you chase is no longer the host of the Darkness. The host has changed,” Granny said bluntly, a strange look crossing her face.

Hook blinked as Granny fell silent, sipping her rum to allow him time to process her words. He didn’t move as he tasted the information on his lips, a horrible sensation of dread and despair filling him. His immediate instinct was to deny that it was possible, but he knew deep down that the woman’s look of despair and grief couldn’t be anything but real.

“Who is it now?” he asked, studying her face carefully, hoping to pick up on some nuance in her communication. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, but he felt disappointment all the same when he realize how upset she was.

Granny poured herself a bit more rum into the half-full glass and knocked back the entire thing in one swallow. Hook watched her dispassionately. She grimaced out of grief, and Hook realized this topic was a festering wound though he didn’t know why.

“I don’t know,” Granny denied, and Hook got the sense that she did indeed know but didn’t want to admit it.

Hook clenched his fist and narrowed his eyes. He felt a rage that he hadn’t felt since Rumplestiltskin had taken his hand and his love from him. All these years of seeking revenge, and for what? What was he left with now? He snarled at the thought of the Crocodile evading his hook another time.

Granny cleared her throat as she choked back tears, calling his attention back to her before he could fall any more into his anger. Her wet eyes shocked him out of his rage long enough to restore sense to his head. “You want any more than that, you’re out of luck. I know nothing else.”

Granny poured herself another shot and knocked it back. Once she had finished, she stood and moved down to another end of the bar without another word. Hook contemplated the bottle before deciding that today’s news had been bad enough. He poured himself a healthy measure and drained the glass. He glanced over to Smee and beckoned his head. Smee scrambled to his side, and when Smee was within earshot, he said, “Tomorrow we travel to the Dark One’s castle.”

Smee blinked before widening his eyes in fear. “To the Dark One’s castle?”

“Aye,” Hook responded. “There will be information there that we need.”

“But won’t he-“ Smee began but Hook cut him off.

“Apparently someone else got to the Crocodile before us. I want to know who and why.” Hook’s eyes hardened in resolve, and Smee gulped before nodding his head. “My best chance at getting answers is there.”

As Smee scrambled off back to the crew to pass the news around, Hook drank another healthy measure of rum, resigned to the situation at hand. This was merely a minor setback in his quest for revenge. He’d waited this long; he could bide his time a little longer.

The next morning dawned bright and cheerful, completely at odds with Hook’s mood. Hook had already left instructions to the next man in charge for getting supplies in his stead. He and Smee arranged for a couple of horses for the journey inland, and they made sure to have the necessary supplies for their journey.

The journey itself to the Dark One’s castle was mostly uneventful. Hook and Smee endeavored to find out all they could about the Dark One’s whereabouts, but no one wanted to talk. Either they didn’t know or they avoided the conversation once questions were asked and quickly hurried off on their way. Hook was quickly becoming vexed with the situation. He needed answers now.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Smee attempted to reassure him after their latest fruitless encounter in a village just south of the Southern Kingdom’s borders. “We’ll find out more at the next inn.”

Hook just sighed in response. It would do no good taking his ire out on Smee. Not when the man was trying to help. Hook just nudged his horse forward into a trot.

“We can find out all we need once we reach the Dark One’s castle. Come and let us stop wasting time,” Hook replied.

Smee said nothing in response. Hook supposed it was because Smee could see just how fine the leash was on his temper. The two rode on in silence, crossing into the Moors kingdom just before nightfall. They stopped at an inn for the night, keeping their ears fruitlessly peeled for any hint of gossip. None could be heard that bore any importance for their quest.

The next morning’s travels brought about similar results. They crossed the small leg of the East Mountains and into Capetia at around noon. They stopped briefly at a tavern for food before moving on. The ride was boring, and Hook’s mind wandered as the horse trudged onward.

Just who had managed to get the best of the Crocodile? How had that happened? Would there even be anything of value at Rumplestiltskin’s old castle? Was all of this just Hook grasping at straws, unwilling to let a past wrong go, even after the culprit was long gone?

Hook didn’t think so, but he had been wrong before. He decided that the only way he was going to get answers was by raiding Rumplestiltskin’s castle. He could decide on the next course to set once he saw the state of things there.

They reached the edge of the Dark Forest that evening. He and Smee lit a fire for safety and camped under the stars. Neither spoke very much, for Hook was too deep in thought and Smee knew better than to push his Captain when the man was pensive like this. The night passed by uneventfully, and the next morning dawned bright.

A hard ride resulted in their arriving at the perimeter of the Dark One’s lands just after noon. They pulled their horses up short as they surveyed the imposing structure in the distance.

“So that’s the Dark One’s castle,” Smee muttered. “Do you think maybe he was compensating for something?”

Hook sniggered. “Most assuredly. We need to be cautious. If the rumors are false, and he is still alive, he won’t take kindly to seeing either of us.”

Smee nodded vigorously and they dismounted their horses. They tied the mounts off, leaving them plenty of slack to graze, and they slunk off in the direction of danger. They crept along in the surrounding woods, keeping their eyes peeled and their ears alert.

The woods were silent. It was eerie how no animals rustled in the undergrowth, how no birds tweeted in the trees above them. The closer they got to the castle, the quieter it got. Hook felt dizzy with how much he kept looking around them, just waiting for an ambush.

Finally they got close enough that the front doors were just in front of them. The castle had a derelict, abandoned feel. No smoke rose from the myriad chimneys; no movement could be detected behind the windows. The facade was covered in overrun ivies and weeds littered the overgrown lawn.

“Well, Captain, there might just be some truth to the rumors after all.”

Hook glanced at Smee. “It seems safe enough so far, but keep on your guard.”

Hook and Smee each grasped a door handle of the giant wooden doors and pulled with all their might, not noticing the wave of blue light that swept the yard as they did so. Slowly, creaking in protest the entire time, the doors gave away. Hook was just about to step inside the foyer when a fireball came soaring at them. Hook and Smee dove for the ground, managing to just narrowly avoid it. They watched as it flew into a tree and caught it on fire. The flames whooshed as it engulfed the large tree and devoured it until nothing but ash remained. They stared at it before looking at each other.

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing waiting for us,” Hook said. Smee chuckled nervously and they both scrambled up into standing positions. They glanced at the opening, but nothing else seemed to be waiting.

“Shall we try this again, sir,” Smee asked uncertainly.

Hook nodded once. “Without the fireballs, preferably.”

They crept through the arched doorway, sticking to the sides, but nothing else happened. The foyer beyond was dark and cold. It gave off a chilling air of abandonment. Hook and Smee exchanged looks.

“Shall we split up sir? Cover more ground that way,” Smee offered as he shrugged.

Hook considered his first mate for a moment, eyebrow tilting up a bit. On the one hand, splitting up could be a trap, but on the other, they waste valuable time searching together.

Hook nodded once. “Yell if you find anything.”

“Aye, aye,” replied Smee before heading to the rooms on the left. Hook decided to go up the grand staircase that lay in waiting just in front of him.

He walked up the steps one at a time, slowly prowling forward, always expecting another type of security measure. Nothing happened.

The lack of reaction set him on edge even more than he had been before entering the abandoned building. He expected Rumplestiltskin’s slimy high pitched giggle to sound behind him at any moment. As the minutes dragged on, he became even more unnerved at the lack of the coward’s appearance.

He stepped onto the next floor and looked around him. The second floor had the same derelict feel as the downstairs. There was no sign of anyone’s inhabitance. He crept forward, resting his palm in the jolt of his sword, keeping his hook at the ready. The first room he came to was some sort of guest room, but for whom, Hook couldn’t begin to say. He didn’t believe the Crocodile had many guests. The imp hadn’t been known for his hospitality, after all. He searched the room, but nothing was there besides tacky furniture and dusty bedclothes. Hook left the room as quickly as he entered it.

The silence in this place was eerie. It set his teeth on edge, and he clenched his jaw out of tension. He crept down the hallway, forgoing searching other countless bedchambers. The stench of Dark magic hung in the air, cloying and sickening. The further down the hall he traveled, the more palpable the magic became.

He went up another staircase, choosing to follow the feeling of the magic instead of investigating every room. Hook figured the odds of finding something were better if he traced the magic. He hadn’t felt this kind of sensation, this tingling numbness, since the Crocodile had been on the deck of his ship, changing Hook’s life forever.

He followed the tingle of the magic until he arrived in front of what appeared to be a private study. He opened the double doors and walked into a large room. A giant table occupied the center of the room, and display cases that had once held whatever objects Rumplestiltskin deemed important surrounded the table. The room had been decorated in rich shades of red and gold, but now a thick layer of dust covered everything.

The room looked as if it had been ransacked by looters at some undetermined point. Hook breathed a heavy sigh. This beyond anything else convinced him that the Crocodile was gone. Looters wouldn’t have been able to mauraud this castle if Rumplestiltskin had still been alive. Hook felt a dull sensation curdle in his stomach that he belatedly recognized was disappointment.

Discouraged, he wandered into the room, no less on his guard than before, but no longer expecting his mortal enemy to appear before him sniggering with twisted glee. He rummaged through the detritus, looking for something but not knowing what it was. After shuffling a few plates around, he saw a brown piece of fabric, dirtied with age and a few dried blood stains. He frowned and picked it up, his heart sinking even lower in his chest.

He knew those stitches.

He stood and shook the fabric out, using his hook to help fan it out to make sure that it was what he thought it was. He smiled a grim smile at the confirmation. It was a shawl. He recognized the handiwork as Milah’s, and he suddenly felt like crying. It must have belonged to Bae.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, hoping to drown the burning sensation, and rapidly tried to blink tears away. He folded it as carefully as he could, caressing the fabric as he did so. He took a step towards the door, intending to leave this room and all its ghosts behind, when he stepped on something that slid as he put his weight down.

Catching himself from falling, he looked at his feet and saw a cane. He moved his shoe off the wood and bent down to pick it up, recognizing it to be that old cane the Crocodile had once used to walk when the coward boarded his ship for the first time. He held it against the shawl that was also in his hand for a moment, considering all the possibilities that could have happened and didn’t, all the ways fate could have worked out differently for him.

Frustrated, he threw the cane away from him and turned to walk out. As he threw it, a shimmering came from the far corner of the room, catching his attention. The shimmering revealed a cabinet that extended from floor to ceiling. He stared in disbelief at it before his heart started racing. This was what he had been looking for!

He hurried to it and wrenched the doors open, seeing all kinds of magical items and whatnots. Books were stacked high in all areas, potion ingredients were stored three lines deep in bottles, with some already being completed. Magical objects filled the empty areas, and wands were held in stands. The magical items weren’t necessarily what he needed, but the books… the books might just be the missing link.

Hook tore through the books stacked high inside the cabinet, desperately searching for something that would help him piece together what had happened. He quickly discarded the ones that looked as if they were magical instruction books, having no interest in their contents. No, he was looking for something more personal.

Seeing nothing in the stack that could help him, he turned to the table, searching for any hidden compartments. Finding two, he tore open the drawers, the contents rattling as he jerked the drawers out, quills and empty ink bottles and other rubbish littering their insides. There was nothing that could even hint at the circumstances that finally resulted in the demon's demise.

He searched in this manner until he had combed through the entire room. If there had ever been any records, they had long since been hidden or destroyed. The fruitlessness of the search just made Hook more determined.

There had to be another room he had overlooked in this overgrown hunk of an imitation castle. Moving decisively towards the door, his hook got caught in a hole in a shelf of the cabinet in his haste. Hook yanked his hook out of the hole it had gotten lodged in, and the shelf came crashing, the contents falling to the floor in a great crash. Hook just managed to jump out of the way in time.

Hook scanned the rubbish, finding it absolutely ridiculous that Rumplestiltskin had never bothered to secure the blasted thing when it had borne all that weight when something caught his eye.

He scanned the back of the cabinet again, his brow furrowing in concentration. There! A glimmer!! He tilted his head this way and that as he tried to determine from where the glimmer had come. He noticed a notch from in between the wooden panels that covered the back of the shelf.

He put his hook into the notch, which was just big enough for the tip of his hook to lodge into, and pulled. The back panel was stubborn and didn’t come off. He sighed and maneuvered his hook deeper into the hole to provide himself with a bit more leverage. He wrapped his hand around his brace and pulled again, this time with all his strength.

The back panel came loose with a loud screech. It had detached just enough so he could see a small book inside. The cabinet must have had a false backing that only the crocodile would know about.

“Clever,” Hook muttered to himself as he reached in and clasped the book in his hand. Once he had pulled it out, he wiggled his hook out of the hole and set out to peruse the book. It had to contain something of importance if the Crocodile had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden.

He opened the book as he sank into a nearby chair that hadn’t toppled over in his haste to further ransack the room. Hook was pleased to find that it was a handwritten journal. He flipped through the pages slowly, finding a lot of drivel about magical experiments that didn’t interest Hook. Most of it was useless, but almost at the end of the journal, the writing changed. It was spiky, with very slanted words (a far different type of handwriting from Rumplestiltskin's scrawled handwriting).

The script made the document hard to read, so Hook skimmed the pages looking for any clues as to what had happened to the Crocodile (and most importantly, whom had killed him). He flipped through page after page, almost falling into a trance as he skimmed over the entry. Just when he thought the journal had nothing of importance, his eyes caught upon a very familiar name.

Milah.

Hook’s heart skipped a beat. He read the sentence that contained her name but found it didn’t make sense in the context, so he backtracked until he fell upon a section that seemed to detail why her name was on the page.

As he read the entry, his blood began to boil.

It had been easy enough to convince Rumplestiltskin that the only way to satisfy his broken heart upon learning his once beloved wife had fallen in love with someone else was to rip out her heart and crush it. With this, I believe that Rumplestiltskin’s last dregs of humanity have been thoroughly eradicated. I have been successful in imprinting myself irrevocably within his soul. With his black heart now thoroughly darkened, he will have no hope of the use of Light Magic against me, that cursed abomination of a magical force.

I had thought seeing him abandon and break a deal with his son was the ultimate test of his loyalty to me, but his murder of Milah showed me the depths of depravity he is willing to sink to. It will be so much easier to twist and bend Rumplestiltskin’s actions to my will. It was amusing to see how little he resisted the urge once I placed the thought in his head to kill her. He almost seemed to welcome it.

I think the coward enjoyed the thrill of the power I wield over life. He will be much more pliant to fulfilling my desires, I think. After all, he will not want to give up the control over the magic I have given him easily. This just serves as further proof that humanity is corruptible and unworthy of the gifts they have been bestowed. They will all bow to me before it is over. I must make my own plans for that day. This vessel will not be able to support me for very long, and the time will eventually come to find another host.

Hook continued to read, but the rest of the passage detailed how it felt to crush a heart and the magic that had to go into the action. He felt sick the more he tried to read, and he closed the book in disgust. His heart lay in jagged pieces at his feet at the information he had sought and obtained.

Rumplestiltskin had merely been a pawn in Milah’s death. Oh, Hook didn’t doubt that Rumplestiltskin desired her death; by the end, the man had looked upon his estranged wife with hatred in his eyes. But to learn that Hook’s love had been killed because some demon had wanted it done to prove a point? That was like rubbing salt in an already festering and infected wound.

Hook grit his teeth. He snatched the journal up and tucked it into one of the hidden pockets in his leather duster. His revenge was still possible. All he had to do was find the demon that killed her and find a way to end its existence.

He threw open the door, hollering for Smee. His first mate came running.

“Tell me you’ve found something of value in this place,” Hook commanded.

Smee held up a dreamcatcher. “I found this. I think it could tell us who the next Dark One is!”

“What is it?” Hook asked, puzzled as to how such an object would be able to tell them anything.

“I don’t know what it’s called, but when I held it, I could see something. I think it might hold memories.” Smee held it out to his captain.

Hook took it in his hand, and once he touched it, images started to play out amongst the strings. It did look like memories. He watched as a pretty young girl, possibly mid to late twenties, approached the Dark One. Rumplestiltskin giggled, dismissing her, when she held out the dagger. He watched dispassionately as Rumple froze in disbelief. He watched the woman say something and then plunge the knife into Rumplestiltskin’s chest. He watched as oily tendrils of darkness began to ooze out of Rumpelstiltskin, making their way up the woman’s arms until it coated her in the substance. She disappeared, the knife disappearing along with her. Rumplestiltskin fell to the ground of his castle, obviously dead.

“Where did she disappear to?” Hook asked once the memories went black and the images reverted back to the strings once more.

“I don’t know, Captain. But I found this with it,” Smee said as he held up a giant black feather.

Hook took it, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Perhaps we can use this to find out.”

He turned and made his way back into the study where he had found the stash of potions. He went to the box and scanned its contents, pulling out a bottle once he had found what he was looking for. He uncorked it, Smee looking on, and poured its contents over the feather.

“Is that a locator spell?” Smee asked.

“I think so. It’s some kind of potion for it, at any rate.” He watched as the feather floated in the air before darting towards a ragged map of the Enchanted Forest that hung on the wall. It gouged itself into the map, and Hook and Smee hurried across the room to see where it was pointing.

“The North Mountains?” Smee read aloud.

“Aye,” Hook agreed. “That is our next destination. We must return to the ship at once.”

Smee nodded, and after a brief moment to figure out the exact location on the map the feather pointed to, the two men left the Dark One’s castle, never to step foot inside again.

After several days’ journey of riding hard and resting only when needed, Hook and Smee arrived back in the port town they had left the Jolly Roger moored at. After a quick replenishment of supplies, she set sail once more, this time to a village called Sapphire Springs in the Northern Kingdom.

Hartford was a quaint little village that had little to offer pirate crews, so Hook and his band rarely made port there. It was out of the way of the major shipping lanes, as it was the most remote village of the Northern Kingdom. Hook preferred doing most of his business at Glowerhaven and other larger ports where it was easier to blend in with the locals and visitors, but he had been to Sapphire Springs enough to know the lay of the land.

Hook and his crew sailed hard, avoiding most traffic in the shipping lanes. They stumbled upon a ship from Agrabah, and Hook gave the order to take it. He knew his crew would appreciate the opportunity to acquire jewels and riches when they hadn’t yet been able to take any ships since their permanent arrival back in the Enchanted Forest. The crew of the merchant ship were very amenable to surrender, and after a couple of hours, the Jolly Roger rode deeper in the water, her hull full of spices and jewels and Agrabahn wine. Hook allowed them to open a barrel, and the evening was spent toasting their success.

They made a quick stop at a port in Sherwood Forest to sell off the jewels and spices. Smee divided the spoils to the rest of the crew after selling off their wares. The crew didn’t dally long; Hook was in too much of a hurry to make it to the North Mountains to spend much time in port.

After selling off this particular haul, they set sail once more, making a beeline straight for Sappire Springs. Hook stood back, letting his crew do the sailing and navigating as they had been for centuries. He kept his eyes trained on the horizon as he came ever closer to fulfilling his destiny and achieving his happy ending (however miserable an end it may be). If he had any doubts about the dangers that lay before him, he didn’t express it.

Hook continued his vigilance until the sky turned to dusk and the night crew took over. He looked out over the water at the waves, felt the breeze on his face, and heaved a sigh. He turned and slid open the hatch to his cabin and descended the ladder, not noticing the giant black swan that swooped down from the clouds and glided over the ship for a brief moment before ascending once more into the clouds.

[hannahmanderr]

just sitting here thinking about how Livin' Large could've been so much cooler

like the GIW buying up the FentonWorks isn't a bad premise itself, especially if they're trying to get to the GZ (we don't talk about the novelty rocket) but why make them struggle bc FentonWorks is run-down when it's prime real estate to get into some wicked cool stuff about haunting?

you have scenes like this where they're doing something mundane like trying to plug in an extension cord to power up their Doomsday device

and then 2 seconds later when he goes to plug it in he gets brutally electrocuted

it's written off as "FentonWorks is a run-down hunk of junk" but what if the lab/portal reacted as a way to defend itself? trying to ward off unfriendlies?

after all, what the GIW are essentially doing is screwing around with Danny's grave.

just imagine a Livin' Large where that scene happens and all of a sudden it cuts to Danny kind of feeling a tug of some sort, like he just used some energy without even realizing it. sure, he would brush it off the first time or two, but the GIW wouldn't stop. as it keeps happening and as he subconsciously continues to defend his grave without him knowing, he would definitely start to get suspicious. maybe he keeps getting distracted by his new expensive toys, but it wouldn't let up and it would just make him feel more and more unsettled. these guys are basically messing with what should be the most sensitive place to him, the place where he died.

but maybe he doesn't want to believe it, at least until Sam and Tucker try to tell him what's up, and at that point, things click. those two might not understand - they're only human after all, they don't understand what it's like to live right above your own grave - but Danny would, and he would be livid.

and so now i'm imagining Danny showing up at FentonWorks as Phantom absolutely ready to defend his haunt and his grave at any cost. imagine what sorts of things he could make the lab do then.

and imagine what would happen to the GIW.

[kaileedraws]

Introduction: Adrien Agreste

Hey fellow miraculers! Here’s Adrien and a little about how he’s going to be portrayed in this AU. I’ll list the characteristics and/or problems that I saw in the show and then delve into how I’m going to take things here. Most of the issues I found in his character is just that his issues aren’t really talked about, but the subtext of a great character is there and he definitely has main character potential

1. His outfit

This is honestly a budget issue/creating recognizable characters for the show, but like all characters, I want to see more Gabriel Agreste fashion on him.

2. Love interest or main character?

In the show, it’s said that he’s the main character, but he doesn’t appear as such. A lot of his emotions, struggles, and life isn’t delved into as much as Marinette, yet he has so much potential. He’s a teenage Rapunzel trapped in a tower waiting for his ladybug in shining armor to come save him. I want to explore not only his fears of losing his freedom, but also his experimentation with rebellion and standing up to his father.

3. Adrien as a Model

In the show, his life as a model isn’t talked about really much, he just thinks it’s boring and it’s a nuisance to him. However, with some research, I discovered how horrible it can be. For one, Adrien would become desensitized to personal space and being touched without permission, putting him into awkward positions in his job and even with classmates. He would get taken advantage of a lot easier. As a model and celebrity, Adrien would also experience Parasocial Confusion — which is when a celebrity has difficulty distinguishing between genuine personal connections/love and relationships/infatuations of fans. This would make relationships with him incredibly difficult.

Additionally, model assault is a huge thing in the fashion industry. Unfortunately, because Adrien is such a pushover and people pleaser, this puts him up to be a prime target for abuse that he probably thinks is just normal (yes this happens, I promise, it sucks.) I want to see a huge character arc with him learning about personal boundaries and learning how to enforce them, with his friends teaching him what is Ok and what is not socially.

4. His personality before his mother dies

If I’m not mistaken, I don’t think we ever get much insight into how Adrien is like before Emilie “disappears.” From what we know about her, she is a princess and an actress, which brings me to my headcanon:

Emilie brought Adrien up on broadway shows, fairytales, and romances — this would explain why he has an “old fashioned” ideology that “boys save girls” (S3E3). This would also explain his gentlemanly behavior— like he was literally written/taught his behavior by a princess (he was. Her name is Emilie).

Inspired by musical theatre and the arts, Adrien began to take dance classes, where he meets Chloe Bourgeois — Emilie is to blame for this, and Gabriel would rather him take fencing, but he gives in. Chloe and Adrien become childhood friends through dance and being partnered often is how they became so close. Based on his “breakdancing” moves as Chat Noir, I think it would also be reasonable that he took other forms of dance too, like hiphop.

As Emilie started to get sicker and sicker, his ambitions for dance and the arts faded. He began fencing like his father wanted to and abandoned dancing. He and Chloe still remained close friends — as this was the only friend he was allowed to have. Gabriel knew Chloe’s dad, after all.

Although Emilie was portrayed to be kind, beautiful, and caring, it’s easy to paint memories of a person better than they actually were. Although she was those things, Emilie also was dramatic, hotheaded, and emotional. If Adrien did something wrong, she’d be quick to scold him harshly, but then just as quick to apologize for her outburst. Toward the end of her life, she was also rather absent from Adrien’s life, as she didn’t have much energy to take care of him anymore. It was difficult for her to take care of him as she got more and more sick, and he would often try to be the best little boy he could because he didn’t want to be a burden on top of her sickness. I mean remember, the last 3 years his dad had gotten him a freaking PEN for his birthday. This occurred when Emilie was still alive.

The person who raised him the most was Nathalie — as his mother became weak, and Gabriel became absent

5. Mental health and coping so he isn’t akumatized

Headcanon that to keep himself from being akumatized, Gabriel has him talk to a counselor who prescribes him multiple medications that work a little TOO well. Meaning? Let’s just say that he starts to become numb to feelings and that it’s just another way for his father to control him — His rebellion streak is going to hit hard yo.

Despite these methods, he’s still going to get akumatized — don’t worry, no one is safe.

His mental health illnesses insinuated from the show include depression, ADHD, parasocial confusion, abandonment trauma, social anxiety disorder, attachment disorder/trauma (which leads to lack of boundaries), and to add some spice, probably claustrophobia (or just feeling trapped). This poor boy has so much he needs to shift through and I’m excited to guide him on an arc to healing.

Conclusion

I think Adrien is my favorite character simply because of how there are certain aspects of him that I heavily relate to — plus he’s such a kind soul who has every right to turn into a villain but stays a sunshine golden retriever boy. It takes a lot of strength and determination to go through so much and be good in the end. I can’t wait to write him in this AU and give the boy the healing and happiness he deserves. There’s so much more I could talk about with him, but this is just the beginning!

[sug4rst1ckzz]

CR Designs: CoD edition (plus Shadow Milk and Black Raisin)!!

Licorice appears twice because bestie (@/reapy_may on insta) asked if I could do a fullbody of him. Red Velvet appears a lot sorry lol (thank you @/stellomiacis for redraisin rot :3)

•🥀 🥀 🥀•

[rewritingcanon]

time of day where i think about how ron and hermione are canonly in love in every universe. it doesn’t matter if theyre not married. it doesn’t matter if the world has gone to shit. the only reason they don’t get together in every universe and are quietly yearning is because they believed their love was one-sided, and they each held that belief for DECADES !! aghhhh !!!

[bloodyknucklesforme]

No name (taking suggestions) for this yet but yeah @syoddeye got me into Nikolai so... here's this. It's way longer than I originally planned but here we are. There will be more at some point but my fingers were just itching to write this out rn so unedited as well...

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind i guess,

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must of seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in a car to a client's.

Marcus hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse with an automatic front door.

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The front room was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box.

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. The door inside clicked. You went inside.

It was nice. Expensive but not tacky like other homes you've been too. The kind of furniture you'd seen in interior design magazines and auctions, solid wood things made by designers with names you could never properly pronounce. There were soviet era antiques scattered about as decor. The first floor was open with a kitchen and dining area to the side and the rest of the room being a living area. There were stairs to the side leading up to where you guessed was the bedroom.

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand.

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ash tray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago.

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one. He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you all night. Make it worth it."

He leaned back, grabbing a remote and turning on the tv. A hockey game roared on the tv.

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?"

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair.

"Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off.

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine.

His bedroom was dark. Wine colored walls with thick, velvet blackout curtains covering the windows. The bed was large with silk sheets and a down comforter.

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scrapping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain.

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

The snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. "There we go, Kotenok."

He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your crevix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting roughly. Your face dragged against the sheets.

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name.

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out.

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned, shuddering hard. "Cum on my cock or shut up."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up. Your back rested against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling.

"Say my name," He barked.

"Kolya...please...Kolya. I..."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it."

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to hold you up any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles.

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the hilt, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth."

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected.

You woke up sore, dried cum and bite marks covering your body.

"You shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the door and locking it from the outside.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kind of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place.

There was towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table.

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of tea still steaming and full.

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls.

"Good girl." He pulled his hand and away and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll ask for you again."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much.

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off. For the first time more scared to leave than to stay.

[diazevan]

I believe Season 5 of Merlin, could have been improved simply by altering one variable; Arthur should have found out about Merlin's magic in the two part opener. I wouldn't have minded if he'd had the exact same reaction that he had in the finale, but at least then we'd have an entire season of him knowing the truth. It's not only about knowing Merlin's secret, I would have loved to see an entire season where Arthur played an active role in his destiny and was fully aware of what was to come. We saw four seasons of Merlin battling it alone, I would have liked a couple of episodes where they were battling it together.

[existentialcrisis-24-7]

Inspired by @winxlobotomyward and @specialists-winx-club's replies to my height chart post for everyone

[bendylovessammy]

same ship different flavors

bonus:

[ganondoodle]

rough concept for a zonau redesign, an underground species now mostly based on bats and monkeys + lightfern

accessoires are referencing gigama (engl. frox) alot since they now live mostly underground and they would be a big part of their culture (constructs seem already designed after gigama in canon but its never really mentioned)

(totk rewritten project)

[pupyr0arz]

To Color

to influence, especially in a negative way; distort or exaggerate.

Soap x m!reader: references to reader being AMAB, being a gay man, being in a gay relationship, etc. minimal pronouns. Part 1.

Summary: Every human on earth sees the world in blacks and whites and grey until they touch a specific individual, romanticized as their fates love. You don’t buy into that, you’re happy as you are and don’t need or want a stranger barging into your life just because your eyes decided they were important. Johnny disagrees with this conclusion.

warnings: Johnny is a bad, bad man, and reader is going to be miserable for a while, sorry. General cws for creepy, pushy behavior, sexual harassment, stalking, and Johnny not respecting Reader’s autonomy or ability to choose. More warnings may be added. Mentions of sex. Minors DNI

@gatlily @focalor-hydro-archon hey pst. Pssst.

Soulmates are overrated, overhyped, over-mentioned, over talked about. It’s awfully inescapable, in movies, in ads, on the news, in books, and the looks you get for complaining about it, like you’ve declared a blood feud on the concept. You just want some peace from the expectation and all the assumptions of glitz and glamor for five goddamn seconds, but lately that blood feud is looking mighty tempting.

Your cynicism in regards to fated lovers wasn’t part of anything dramatic, like in the movies where the skeptic always got revealed to be the child of a divorce caused by soulmates or something equally inane. Your parents weren’t soulmates, which was honestly average. Most people never met their soulmates and lived perfectly fulfilling lives. Soulmates weren’t the end all be all of love, and when they did show up they certainly didn’t all fall into the simple shapes a romcom would tell you.

Your father could see color, his soulmate was platonic in his cousin, the two of them were close friends and they lived just down the street. You’d come up on the porch while your cousins played in the yard and sipped sour lemonade and bother them about how colors looked, and they’d argue about shades and how to describe it. Your father always wanted you to meet your soulmate, wistfully regaling the first time he ever saw the blueness of the sky. Uncle Jeremy would just pinch your cheek and wave you off with a laugh. You had a really normal childhood, honestly.

You got tired of the game in high school, when blossoming hormones and teen drama rocked the school for weeks on end over and over about the same damn things. You were old enough to really have coherent opinions about the world, and fated lovers had turned from funny stories from your father and ads on tv to in your face irritants. One of your friends friends faked seeing color for two weeks to date a guy she really liked. You weren’t extremely close to either, you sat with them at lunch and watched them in periods and they seemed happy. He dumped her in a flash, and moped around school afterwards and all you could think about was why color seemed to matter so much to people.

It sounded fantastical, sure, you wouldn’t mind having an extra sense. You daydreamed about color coming to you in a whirl, setting the world alight in a billion lights, seeing things in new clarity and depth. It was hard to imagine, some other attribute lurking just outside of vision that stained the world in strange, vivid ways.

Bonded people opened museums, attractions built for viewing color in odd ways that blended and blurred together to your black and white vision. Hidden objects and paintings and other things that they cooed over, long essays about vibrancy and the million metaphors for color. You don’t really buy into any of it, if you could taste the crispness of a shade of ‘red’ then what’s the deal with feeling it with your eyes? You’ve eaten apples before, you don’t need to see the flavor to enjoy it. Why should you be so desperate to sacrifice so much, when you already have senses that give you joy?The thing is, with fantastical things is that they’re fantasy, they aren’t grounded in anything solid or real, and you weren’t enthusiastic to take that leap of faith and step onto open air and pray it was a trust fall, not a jump to your death.

You could live without color, and honestly thousands and thousands of people got on perfectly fine. It’s not like any part of society was really based on seeing color these days, other than the fine arts. You weren’t artsy anyways, you never managed to get into it. So what if you didn’t really know whatever ‘green’ really was, did it really mean the end of the world? the end of a relationship? Why would you throw away something that made you happy, something stable, for a complete stranger? Your mother was perfectly happy with your father, and she had never met her soulmate. What if your soulmate was a family member, or a friend? Why did everyone always hold out hope they’d find a perfect marriage partner, when it seemed like soulmate bonds could be something like a perfect smoking buddy to a perfect brother? Honestly, romance didn’t seem so dependent on the whole farce at all. You could build something that didn’t need anything but whites and blacks and all of the shades between. You might not be able to see the red of a rose, but you could enjoy the shades of gray that painted the world with someone you could trust to always hold your hand and have your back.

You dated a handful of people, most of whom were still holding out hope of brushing fingers with their ‘truest love’ to see the beauty in the world. As you got older, more likeminded people cropped up, less likely to vanish and ghost you to wander off on their ‘journey’ to find their soulmate. You had your first kiss, lost your virginity, moved in and out with other people. Relationships blossomed and fizzled and died and you picked yourself up afterward with the occasional thought of ‘Jesus, I couldn’t imagine trying to make THAT one work as my one and only’ before you carried on. But all of that was before, in the section of your life cut so neatly and sharply in two that it was hard to believe they were ever, or could ever be joined.

All before you met him.

You met him on a dating app, which was remarkable enough. It was built for quick hookups, but most dating apps that advertised themselves for long term relationships were soulmate based and you found that crowd to be endlessly irritating. He’s bi-curious, you’re the first man he’s ever dated and honestly that almost turns you off entirely. But you decide you have no better prospects at the moment, so what the hell.

Charlie’s cute, and he greets you with a nervous smile and can barely meet your eyes, he tells you with red eats that he’s ninety nine percent sure that he’s gay and that his friend has been begging him to just take them plunge and you nod and give him some dutiful advice. You’re definitely not looking to be a guys experiment, that rarely ends well, but he invites you out to dinner where he loosens up after a glass and goes on an impassioned rant about theater etiquette and suddenly things are actually interesting and you’re talking too loudly for the table over but you couldn’t care less.

He’s funny, nervous but out there and you talk about musicals you’ve never heard of and tv shows he’s never seen for forty five minutes before you reach across the table and grab his wrist. The sex is light, he makes you laugh through blunders like banging his head against the wall and you kiss afterwards and it feels light and sweet. It’s blissful, honestly, something you’ve forgotten you were missing at all until you’ve been handed it. You keep things non penetrative, he’s far from trying bottoming and you’re not a fan of being on the other side of it, and you have plenty of fun keeping him awake with all the other options. You talk to him again the next day, and then the next, and then his number is in your phone and you’ve been going steady for months.

Charlie isnt a perfect Prince Charming, he’s got his issues. He’s over the top and he pushes himself to meet standards and crumbles at the last second and you’ve had your fair share of screaming arguments. Work is stressful and some nights you go to bed in different rooms because you can’t stand dealing with him. You have your own issues and Charlie complains more than once, rightfully you’re forced to admit, about you being cold and reclusive when you get angry at him, and you’ve had to buy apology ice cream more than a couple times. But you have movie nights and kisses and cake together and a warm, building feeling in your chest. You go out to the zoo, try and fail to learn how to knit together and eat buttered toast with too much black pepper over the kitchen sink on Saturday mornings. You don’t get into anal but he gets really good at giving blowjobs, and those slept mornings spend kissing and exploring each others bodies fill you with a precious glow.

Charlie isn’t your one size fits all, but you’ve managed to find him a slot in your puzzle, and built him a home in your heart together. You love Charlie, and he loves you too, tells you so with cheesy flowers and you buy him one of those dumb necklaces that click together that you totally don’t love. He brings you lunch at work and you drive him home from visiting his parents, and your friends are fine enough with his to go drinking together every couple of times. His best friend does your tarot readings and gets an awful tattoo you laugh about together. You cry and he doesn’t

Life is good. It’s not effortless, it’s not magic, but it’s good because you made it so. You’ve pushed and pulled and made something with your bare hands, and you have the luxury to sit back and watch the alabaster glow of the sun brighten Charlie’s face into a million beautiful shades of gray.

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm, and soon Charlie’s inviting you as plus one to a wedding and you start thinking about rings and commitment.

That’s all before you met him, though.

It happens like in a storybook, so trite that hours after it happens you’re wondering if you suffered some serious brain damage. Maybe you got hit by a car, or had a delayed reaction to the weed your friend passed you last week, or something happened to scramble your thoughts into this strange new unreality.

You’re visiting the library when it happens, dropping by after your shift to pick up some new reading material, not looking where you’re going. Charlie’s texting you a million and a half recommendations while you’re planning on picking up some awful garbage to groan and complain about later while he makes fun of you, and you’re typing a dick joke involving one of the sillier titles you spotted on the shelves. You bump into him, not a shoulder check but you run into him like a wall and he barely stumbles back. You’re not a small guy in the slightest but he’s built like a brick shithouse, Jesus.

“Ah, hell, sorry man.” You apologize, giving him a sheepish smile. “My foul. I should watch where I’m going.”

He doesn’t puff up with anger or anything but flashes you a toothy smile, so you relax. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, mate.”

Oh, he’s Irish or something, the accent is thick as all hell. It sparks your interest, a definite standout from the midwestern folks living here, and you don’t rush away to continue your browsing. You don’t walk away, like you should’ve, you don’t realize that in two years this will have become your biggest, most shameful regret.

He peers down at you, light eyes, ivory maybe? He’s got a weird haircut, some kind of half committed Mohawk thing. It’s an awful haircut, really shitty, so you politely avert your eyes from the active train wreck and send a prayer for any casualties, and realize you’ve dropped your phone on the ground.

“Ye dropped—“

“Ah, let me—“

You both reach for it at the same time, and your fingers brush, and the world changes, and you have all of a half a second to freeze in shock and confusion before you accidentally headbutt him and fall over.

Maybe he had a thick enough skull to really hurt you. You would know.

[sammylovesbendy]

a few things i drew in the discord the last week

[robotsafari]

vanitas my awesome bastard child.

[sug4rst1ckzz]

Ancients, Elementals, and SugarTree Family! Whipped Cream, Blue Slushy, and Wind Archer are siblings forced to endure all the weirdo stuff that happens to the legendary cookie circle sadly /j. And Pitaya is Fire Spirit’s parent :3

I’ll redo the Ancients at some point I did them late on a college night while half-asleep 😭😭 ALSOOOO in this rewrite White Lily and Dark Enchantress are the SAME PERSON. I’m not doing that 2 separate people type-of-thing, she fell in that vat of Evil Dough™️ and came back devilish-looking in my eyes.

• 🦢 🌬️ 🩰 🪵 💧•

[raven-anime]

B&B:TQFTIM Alice redesign/rewrite I save her guys

[bloody-cupcakes]

Hello, can I request something with JD with a reader who is visibly too crazy? As well as being too noticeable hahaha. Thank you so much

I made the reader to be the "yandere" one of the two but just to be clear this in no way means that I made JD healthy and/or well adjusted lmao, it's just that the reader is more unhinged than he is

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, the reader is visibly crazier than JD and not very good at hiding it, mentions of shooting someone (with blanks), mentions of threatening someone with a switchblade, swearing, light stalking, allusions to violence/murder

There was talk of the new boy who'd shot two of the biggest assholes at school in the middle of the lunch room without so much as flinching. They were blanks that he used, but still.

Because of this, a lot of people thought he was crazy, but when you looked at him all you could think about was the gorgeous depths of his watercolor eyes. You had to have him, you decided, no matter what anybody else said.

You tried to follow him around so you could see what his deal was, but you weren't very good at being subtle. Not to mention how you stuck out like a sore thumb, owing it to not having a lot of friends. You were certain it was through no fault of your own and that most people just couldn't handle your eccentric nature.

Really it was because you were bat shit crazy, to put it lightly. No one could seem to forget the one time you pulled a switchblade on Heather Duke in study hall because she kept chewing her gum too loud. I mean, you make one mistake and that's all anyone remembers you for. Honestly, the nerve of some people.

So yeah, JD definitely noticed you. Maybe not the same way you noticed him (new kids were usually only on display for a couple of weeks before falling under the radar, so your fixation on him was a lot more abnormal than most) but it was still something.

He seemed to genuinely be interested in you, unlike your fellow students who always seemed to have you in the back of their minds only out of wariness over what kind of stunt you might pull next. Maybe it was because of your crazy, over-the-top nature that he became so interested in you, but it wasn't in the same way you were interested in him.

See, he could go for a few hours without seeing you, but you? No, you had to know where he was at all times. Even if you two weren't really a couple, you thought of yourselves as one. JD would probably agree with that sentiment, he just thought it was funny to see how worked up you would get whenever he referred to you as just a friend.

Of course he was aware that you were always following him around, not wanting him to be out of your sight for even a second. He thought your commitment was cute, even if your skills in the art of subtlety needed some work.

Out of the two for you, he was much better at appearing "normal" and hiding whatever sort of dark tendencies he had beneath the surface; you couldn't do that. He realized that much when you showed up to his house in the middle of the night (in the pouring rain, I might add) covered in blood.

Before he could ask what happened, you threw something down at his feet and announced, "this is for you". It was the spiral bound notebook belonging to some random kid who's homework he asked to copy the day before. He raised an eyebrow as he picked it up, noticing how the front cover had some blood spatter on it.

"Now you won't need to ask to copy their notes anymore." You seemed so proud of yourself, happy even, a stark contrast to your grouchy attitude from earlier that day. He knew you were a little upset with him for giving someone else attention other than you, he just didn't know you'd go so far as to move that person from the equation entirely.

Still, he couldn't find it in himself to be mad. In all honesty, he'd talked to (and even flirted with) them on purpose just to see how far you would go for him, to figure out where your loyalty would lie. He was a bit worried that you only seemed obsessive on the surface and were actually normal underneath it all, so this was a pleasant surprise.

The grin on your face caused him to let out a slight chuckle, tossing the notebook to the side as he approached you. "You're amazing, did you know that?" He took note of the way you beamed with pride and joy, still looking as cute as ever even with someone else's blood all over you. You were a keeper for sure.

As he leaned in to give you a kiss, he smirked at the desperate and eager manner in which you kissed him back, the blood of your victim getting on his face and clothes when you pulled him closer to you. Nothing about this situation seemed at all out of the ordinary to either one of you, despite the somewhat morbid circumstances.

JD had finally found someone who seemed to be just as devoted to him as he was them, which begged the one question he never once thought he'd ever get to ask himself: is this what love felt like?