#davy vain

[calpalpol]

MY FAVOURITE!!! DAVY VAIN WITH OTHER PEOPLE ON THE GLAM SCENE

[undergroundglam]

A glam metal band which originated from San Francisco Bay Area in 1986

On vocals, Davy vain, on drums, Tom Rickard, on bass, ash Michell on guitar, joel proto and dylana nova Scott (steven Adler of guns n roses played with them for a short time too)

Albums:

No respect (1986)

All those strangers (1991)

Move on it (1993)

Fade (1995)

On the line (2005)

Enough rope (2011)

Rolling with the punches (2017)

Disintegrate together (2024)

Genres: glam metal, hard rock.

[musicmags]

[thesiouxzy]

[rockyoushow]

REVIEW: VAIN "Disintegrate Together"

It’s hard to believe it’s been 35 years since the debut of VAIN “No Respect”. The band’s debut was in 1989, a year where there were so many releases it was easy to fall to the wayside. Their first album seemed to get more praise from the critics than other bands of the Glam genre, probably because it was very real and heartfelt. It’s also hard to believe that their latest “Disintegrate Together”…

[rastronomicals]

8:49 AM EST March 2, 2024:

Reverend Gary Davis - "Death Don’t Have No Mercy" From the album Love in Vain: The Old Weird Blues (November 2023)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Giveaway with Mojo 361, with Mick and Keef on the cover

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

－－－

Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Caius, Felix and Demetri trying to convince their mate to become a vampire

Y/N: “What’s so great about becoming a vampire anyway?”

Felix: “You’ll be stronger then any human”

Y/N: “I’m pretty content with my strength levels.”

Caius: “You will never age. I know how vain you humans can be.”

Y/N: “A. That’s rude and B. I want to age like Betty Davis, where the older I am, the more insane I become.”

Demetri: *sighs* “You’ll be able to drink blood and live your best life as a sexy powerful gothic creature of the night.”

Y/N: “Now you’re speaking my language!”

Caius: “And we will be your humble servants and loves for eternity. Also when you’re a new born you’ll be stronger then any of us.”

Y/N: “So I get to not just boss you all around, but throw you around too?”

Felix: “Please do.”

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 1,057

Gif NOT mine.

Year posted - 2023

Rating - SFW (Includes injuries involving flogging obviously.)

Reading time (roughly) - 10 minutes

It's been a while since I watched these movies, so some things are not going to be super accurate. Just roll with it my lovelies.

Pushing Will aside (Y/n) stepped forward to face Davy Jones. "I will take his place." She stated suddenly, confusing both Will and Davy Jones. "You will take his place?" The Captain asked in bemusement, a amused smirk on his lips. "Yes." She stated confidently, shaking off Will's arm when he tried pulling her back. "(Y/n) what are you doing?" He hissed at her, again trying to pull her away, giving up when she shook him off a second time. "And why should I let you take Mr. Turner's lashings?" Davy Jones asked, several of his crew mates chuckling at the absurd demand. "Because then he'll actually learn his lesson." She stated matter-of-factly before continuing. "Will's a proud man, if you punish him, he won't learn, he'll only disobey you again, and the cycle will continue." (Y/n) allowed the Captain a moment to think before continuing. "But he's also a honorable man, and should I be punished for his actions, he'll think twice about causing trouble." She concluded, and she could tell Davy Jones saw her perspective. "Very well. The woman will be flogged." The Captain concluded, his men quickly grabbing her arms, and pulling her to the mast. "No!" Will argued trying to put a stop to this, he was grabbed by his father and only held back for a few moments before he broke away.

"You can't do this!" He shouted when he reached her, attempting to pull the crew members away from her. (Y/n) pushed them away and faced Will. "Don't." She warned, not fighting the men when they took ahold of her shoulders. "If you interfere, you'll only make this worse for me." She hissed at him, her serious expression turning to shock when the crew mates tore the back of her shirt open. "Captain get a look at this!" One of the guys barked with amusement, turning (Y/n)'s back to Davy Jones who stood with the rest of the crew. The crew burst into laughter, and the Captain chuckled in amusement. Her back bare to his gaze, Will gawked in astonishment at the sight, where over a dozen large scars littered her back. "It would seem this isn't the first time you've been flogged." Davy Jones mused, waving his arm for them to continue. "No no I can't-!" Will shouted when his father dragged him back by the shoulders. "Will you need to stop, if you keep this up, they will whip her to the bone." His father warned, and the young man went slack, knowing his words were true. "But shes- I-" Will muttered, cutting himself off as he locked eyes with her. "I know son, I know." The old pirate pat his sons shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. (Y/n) was shoved against the ships mast, her arms pulled around it, and bound tightly with rope. "She doesn't deserve this." Will muttered mournfully, his heart breaking at the sight of the fear building in her eyes. "She's a tough woman, she will be fine." Bootstrap consoled his son, releasing his hold on him, believing Will wouldn't do anything stupid or rash.

The first strike pulled a pained cry from the woman, and blood stained the deck, instantly getting washed away with the rain. Will couldn't control himself, when the second lashing came, rushing forward to comfort her. "Will don't!" Bootstrap shouted, but it was to late. Will stood before her, taking her hands in his, and resting his forehead against hers. One of the crew mates moved to pull Will away from her, assuming he was trying to free her. "Leave him." Davy Jones commanded, knowing Will wasn't trying to untie her, and allowing him to remain so close to her, knowing it would only hurt him more. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Will wept as she was struck again, and again. Her cries choked and breathless, the pain splitting across her back nearly unbearable. "I swore to protect you." His whisper was pained, as he peered into her watery eyes. "I'm so sorry I have failed you." He squeezed her hands, his own heart breaking at the sound of the whip crack. On the eighth whip crack, (Y/n)'s knees buckled and she fell slack against the mast. Will quickly moved his hands to grab the underside of her bent arms, and pull her to stand up straight. Knowing if she was hunched down, the whip was likely to strike her head, and the man wielding damned thing wouldn't care. "It's almost over." He tried to assure her, knowing the sentencing was only ten lashings. "Hang in there." He whispered, their tears mixing with the heavy fall of rain, foreheads resting together.

The ninth strike, and every muscle in her body shook from the shock, and pain of it all. The tenth and final strike came harder than the others, the force making (Y/n) crumble to the ground, despite Will's attempts to keep her upright. "She has the rest of the day to rest, but I expect her to be on deck working first thing in the morning." Davey Jones dismissed, the crew mates departing to go about their work, leaving Will to help (Y/n). "Take it easy, I've got you, I've got you." He murmured quickly untying her hands, and easing her into his arms as gently as he could. She whimpered in pain, clinging to his arms, her body still shaking from the shock and pain. "Easy firefly easy." He murmured softly, the nickname bringing a ghost of a smile to her face. "I'm okay Will." She murmured weakly, trying to stand on wobbly legs. Instinctively Will wrapped his arm around her back, nearly jumping away from her when she cried out in pain. She fell forward in an instant, and Will rushed forward to catch her in his arms. Now chest to chest, his hands rest firmly on her hips. Swiftly he hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and buried her face into his neck. "I'm sorry, I've got you now." He whispered into her hair as he carried her below deck. Once they were below deck, and away from prying eyes, Will sat her atop a sturdy table.

"I need to clean your wounds." Will stated in a soft tone, slowly moving to unbutton her now ruined shirt. Moving slow enough to give her the opportunity to push him away, should she want him to stop. She didn't fight him, and allowed him to slide the shirt off of her shoulders. Gently he slipped the shirt from her arms, and tossed the ruined fabric aside. He kept his eyes locked with hers, as she sat before him, bare from the waist up. "Why did you do it?" He asked the question that had been burning in his mind like hellfire. "To keep you from causing any more trouble." She murmured, her words only making Will scoff. "Bullshit. Why did you do it?" He insisted. "Because it's what you do!" (Y/n) suddenly shouted as best she could, grunting at the pain in her back. "You protect the ones you love, no matter what it takes." She huffed before slumping forward. Despite the shock he felt at her words, Will was quick to catch her by the shoulders. "You..." He tried to gather his thoughts, a far away look in his eyes. "Forget it." She grunted, holding herself upright and turning her back to him. "My cuts need dealt with." She reminded him, and in a instant Will rushed to work. Carefully he cleaned each of the open wounds, unable to keep his mind from running a mile a minute. His fingers subconsciously tracing over one of the old scars, muttering an apology when she suddenly pulled away from him.

"What happened?" He asked in a soft whisper. (Y/n) chuckled bitterly, glancing over her shoulder. "The life of a pirate isn't an easy one... Especially with a brother like Jack." She muttered the last part so only Will could hear. "Your-?" He cut himself off, knowing if Davy Jones found out, it could end horribly. "He's reckless." She chuckled again. "Just like someone else I know." Will smiled softly when she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I never meant for you to get hurt." Will muttered as he prepped a needle and thread. "Yeah I know." She shrugged a little. "But I also know that what I told Davy Jones is true. Had it been you to get flogged, you would have ended up making the same mistake of pissing off the Captain of the Flying Dutchman." He hated to admit it, but he knew she was right. "And if I was the one to get hurt, you might actually take the time to stop and think, and maybe just maybe you'd learn to keep your head down." She continued, hissing when Will began stitching her wounds. "We can't just do nothing." Will said, trying not to sound angry. "Jack will come for us, we just need to bide our time." (Y/n) said in a soft tone. "Jack? How can he possibly save us? You heard what Davy Jones said." Will argued, trying to keep his hands steady as he worked on her stitches. "He owns one hundred souls... How can he possibly get one hundred souls?" Will's voice was mournful. "Do you know how Jack came to owe Davy Jones so many souls?" (Y/n) asked pain evident in her voice, making Will slow his work.

"To get back the Pearl." Will stated, and (Y/n) chuckled softly. "Eighty souls would have bought him the Pearl. The other twenty were for me." She explained, her words making Will still in his work for a moment. "You see when Barbossa staged a mutiny, and stole the Pearl from Jack, he kept me prisoner. Knowing full well how close me and Jack are, he wanted to rub salt in the wound." She sighed when Will washed away the blood that had spilled as he worked. "I died Will." He froze at her words. "When the Pearl went down, I went down with her. I drowned of all things." She chuckled bitterly. "Jack bargained for twenty more souls to bring me back." She turned to look at Will. "Jack is reckless, a little crazy, and sometimes a selfish coward... But he always comes back, he always does the right thing, and he does whatever it takes for the ones he cares about." Will smiled faintly at her words, she really believes in her brother, and for her he's willing to believe in Jack as well. "You know... Before you told me Jack was your brother, I thought you guys were a couple." Will smiled at the face she pulled. "But I'm glad to know you aren't." He added before kissing her cheek. "I-" (Y/n) tried, but Will cut her off, turning her back around to finish patching her up. "And I'm glad to know you love me back." He added in a soft tone, kissing the nape of her neck, smiling when she shuddered in response.

Once he finished patching her up, he took and wrapped her torso securely with wrappings. And with that done, he removed his shirt, assisted her into it, and buttoned it up slowly. "What about Elizabeth?" (Y/n) asked after a moment, having been unable to think about what he said. "I thought you loved her?" She added. "I thought I did too. That is until I met you." His knuckles brushed across her cheekbone. "How many times have you saved my life, or protected me?" Will asked with a smile. "You need it." She smiled. "Yeah I guess I do..." His smile slowly faded as he thought about what had happened. "I'm so sorry that you had to go through this, that I did this to you... I promise... I promise you I won't let this happen again." Will insisted, resting his forehead against hers. "You know that's what Jack always says, when he gets me into some crazy situation that risks life and death." (Y/n) mused with a grin. "The life of a pirate isn't an easy one, but luckily for me, I was born to be a pirate." She added, making Will smile. "You should get some rest, the Captain expects you to be working on deck in the morning." He helped her off of the table, laid back in the hammock, and pulled her gently to lay chest to chest with him. "Drink up me hearties yo ho." (Y/n) sang softly, a tired smile pulling at her lips. "Sleep love." Will encouraged her, kissing the crown of her head.

Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️

(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)

[zablife]

Long Distance

Johnny Davis x reader

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Summary: Johnny calls from the road to check in on you. He can tell from the sound of your voice, you're desperate for him so he decides to help you...but only if you're a very good girl.

A/N: Sorry for all the requests I have piling up in my inbox! I will get to them soon. This was giving me brain rot tho. 18+ MDNI, guided masturbation, use of the term "daddy"

The phone trills once, then twice as you scramble to reach it, knocking the heavy receiver from its cradle in your eagerness. "J-johnny?" you falter softly.

"Hey, babydoll," he hums. If he closes his eyes, he can almost picture you in a pastel nightgown, brushing your hair in front of the television set as you do every night.

"Waited for your call," you simper, despite your drooping eyelids. "I needed to hear your voice tonight."

"You waited for me, huh?" he asks, a smirk audible in his voice as he realizes the need present in your voice.

"Course I did," you coo back at him and he can envision that look in your doe eyes, large and glossy as you listen to his every word with pure adoration.

"That's right, cause you're my sweet girl. So good for me," he praises, knowing how wet that makes you.

"I am," you nod obediently as though he might be watching.

"You ready for me?" he asks, even though he knows the answer to the question before he asks it.

"Want you so much," you murmur, hips rocking against the sofa involuntarily, a vain attempt to gain some kind of friction.

"Oh, sweetheart...you don't sound so good," he can't help but tease, knowing you haven't had a release in over a week. "Tell daddy what's wrong?"

You want to touch, fingers sliding down your abdomen and stopping at the band of your underwear. However, you freeze as you remind yourself it isn't allowed when Johnny's not home. The more you try to talk yourself out of it, the worse the torture becomes. The fire burning beneath your skin simply won't abate so you decide to beg. "The tingles are too bad tonight," you whine pathetically. "Please let me touch, daddy."

Johnny hums for a moment as he considers it, relishing the power he holds and then his mind is made up. "Only if you listen to my voice very carefully, little one."

Your heart leaps at his permission, chin nodding against your chest vigorously before you've even heard his terms. "Yes, yes, yes," you pant, tracing your hand along the gusset of your panties in expectation. It draws a tell tale whimper from your lips which doesn't go unnoticed.

"You're breakin' the rules, darlin'," he warns in a low growl, making you gulp and jerk your hands from your body, head turning to see if he might be peeking through the curtains.

Then you hear a good natured chuckle rumble from his chest followed by honey coated words of praise, "Just joking, sugar, want my girl to feel good all the time. But you gotta let me show you how, okay?"

You sink back into the sofa with a sigh, eyelids half closed as Johnny gives you the okay to slide your panties from your legs.

"Pull your nightie up and let it sit high on your waist now," he instructs in a thick whisper. "Spread your legs so you feel that nice, cool breeze on your pussy....But don't touch her yet."

You pant into the receiver and hear him laugh at you. "Johnny, don't!" you scold him as your crimson nails dig into the cushions, head tossed back in agony.

"Sorry, angel," he corrects himself. "Can't help but imagine you spread wide, dripping on the couch cushions," he defends himself. "My lonely little baby making a mess just cause she misses her daddy."

You bite your lip, his filthy words making you warmer by the minute. "Pl-please," you whimper.

"Oh, angel..."Johnny breathes down the line and you can practically hear him palming himself to your frantic panting. "Go on and touch. Tell me how wet you are f'me."

You trill in exquisite delight as your hand slides between parted lips, your slick coating your eager fingertips. "So wet," you echo back to him.

"Wish I could have a taste'," he murmurs in appreciation and you can vaguely hear a smacking sound in the distance. "You go on and taste for daddy like a good girl, won't ya?" he asks with a deep sigh.

"Uh-huh," you slur out in promise.

"Slow now, leave a trail up that perfect body before you suck those fingers. Got two in your mouth now?" he asks.

"Mmmmm," you confirm, pursing your lips and licking your juices.

"You taste sweet or salty tonight?" he prods, wanting to know every detail.

"Sweet," you taunt, middle finger popping from your pouty lips audibly.

"Then you're ovulatin' darlin'. Gotta get back to ya soon," he grits out, the wet sounds on his end growing louder. The idea of breeding you always a turn on for him.

"Daddy?" you whine.

"What is it, honey? What you want?" he begs to know.

"I ache," you remind him.

"Gonna take care of that right now, sugar," he promises lowly. "Rub for me like you I taught ya."

Your hand slides to your clit, fingers tracing circles feverishly now that you've been given permission. A wanton moan escapes and Johnny knows you've complied.

"Feelin' good?" he asks.

"S-soo good," you slur as your back arches off the sofa to meet your own hand.

"I know, playin' with that pussy feels like heaven, don't it?" he reminisces to himself, thinking of your soft, warmth clutching his fingers and milking his cock. "Can make you feel drunk," he adds with a sigh.

You nod in agreement, fingers fumbling against your swollen bud in satisfaction until he adds soberly, "But that's why you gotta stop when you can't think straight. Stop and count to ten."

"Wh-what?" you mutter, feeling your pulse throb in your clit painfully the moment you cease movement.

"I said, hands off," he instructs sternly. "Start countin."

You nearly cry as you begin in slow uneven breaths, Johnny humming his approval and hushing the tears he knows are threatening to spill over your beautiful lashes.

When you come to the end, he soothes you, "Good girl, I know that was hard. Wish I could see that pretty pussy clenching for me, I do," he sympathizes in the softest voice you've ever heard. Yet somehow you still want to hit him, claw at him for keeping you from your release.

"Johnny, please..." you whimper. "N-need it," you beg.

"Smack it first," he answers. As your knuckles tighten against a cushion without verbal reply, he coaxes, "S'okay, little one, didn't say I was gonna ruin it, did I? You're gonna cum hard for me in a minute. Hang on, now."

And you know he wants to hear the sounds of your palm meeting your wetness, giving you just enough stimulation to keep you on edge. Brow furrowed as your hand raises in the air, you whine against the sting, his chuckle your only answer to the question if he's satisfied.

After a long pause he sighs deeply over the line, imagining the jaw dropping sight of your red, puffy lips. "Go on, slide your fingers in," he tells you breathlessly, wishing he could feel the heat against his own hand. "You deserve it, angel baby."

"Thank you, thank you," you mutter to him as you pump your digits into your throbbing cunt, needing something, anything to help you peak.

But it isn't enough and your frustrated grunts soon prove it. Johnny knows it before you can express the thought and he whispers a solution in your ear like a savior. "Hairbrush, darlin'. Use the handle to fuck yourself," he offers.

The relief is instant, reaching further than your small hand ever could and you're a whimpering mess, dropping the receiver from your shoulder before you realize you're cumming hard.

That doesn't matter to Johnny though. He's listening to every harmonious sound over the static filled line, spilling over his hand just as you seem to crest. "My perfect babydoll," he grunts in complete satisfaction.

When you recover, you find the phone and place it to your ear. "J-johnny?" you repeat much like the beginning of your conversation.

"Did daddy make it better, darlin'?" he asks with a smug grin on his face.

"So much better," you huff out, still experiencing aftershocks as your hands trace over trembling thighs.

"Sleep tight. I'm comin' home tomorrow and I want you well rested," he reminds you, thoughts of everything he wants to do to you in the forefront of his mind.

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

Tag List:

@potter-solomons

@mollybegger-blog

@gardens-light

@mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler

@buttercupsandboys

@dreamlandcreations

@kmc1989

@mayfieldss

@semperamans

@frnchgirls

@anqeliclust

@stvr-dust

@maisie-rebloging-blog

@filmtv2022

@leenieweenie12

@lyralu91

@alfiestreacle

@hecatemoon87

@darklydeliciousdesires

[lunarmoves]

mentions: mer au, near death experience kind of yea im making this a full fic i think

the mer was judging you. 

you could just tell, no translation necessary. call it intuition, but you were certain the way it was circling you slowly in the water was its way of mocking you for your predicament. high-pitched chirps and clicks echoed murkily through the water. poking fun at you for sure, you thought miserably to yourself. you couldn’t really muster up the strength to do anything more than turn your head to track it around you. but that wouldn’t matter for much longer if you didn’t figure something out soon. 

your foolishness was what had led to your entrapment—thinking you could help free a flailing turtle from a fisher’s net when you had no sharp tools on hand to cut through the firm material. foolish. your reasoning had been to carefully unwrap it, but in your focus you hadn’t realized that whilst you were indeed untangling the turtle, you were also simultaneously trapping yourself. and then it had been too late. 

an instinct to panic had to be heavily squashed down. you were calm at first and tried to methodically untangle yourself. one loose end here, another loose end there. but, to your mounting frustration, you were making things worse. that calmness gave way to some kind of innate desperation and you idiotically writhed about (a moment of weakness, you grumbled to yourself later) until your leg was wrapped unforgivingly in metal and rope. 

and thus, here you were, hours after the turtle had left with not even a thank you. floating vertically in the water like you were anchored to davy jones locker itself as your leg grew steadily number and number the longer time went on. 

you had resigned yourself to your fate not too long ago. there was nothing around you on the sea floor that you could use to cut yourself free. and no matter how many times you yanked and clawed at the netting, nothing but a raw tenderness to your skin was your agonizing reward. you couldn’t even hold out hope that someone would notice you were gone since, well, you hadn’t really told anyone you were going scuba diving. foolish, foolish, foolish. hope had never seemed so fragile. 

but then the mer showed up. and you were so utterly done with everything. 

it was, quite honestly, difficult not to notice it at first. it had swam out from some large rock in the distance, aglow like it was trying to set the ocean itself on fire. you had just enough time to catch a glimpse of vibrant, white eyes before it had turned tail and darted right back behind the rock formation. you blinked and wondered if you’d started hallucinating for some time before the glow peeked around the deep blue-gray rock. it was staring right at you. so, naturally, the only thing you did was stare back. 

awkward. after a time, you looked away to rake your gaze over the netting in a vain attempt to figure out a way to free yourself once more. maybe if you ignored it, it would go away. mers were rare and unpredictable creatures—your best bet regarding an encounter with one was to just avoid it altogether. tough luck doing that with your leg trapped, idiot, you told yourself with a huff that made bubbles burst from your nose. 

the water got brighter just then, and a quick jerk of your head upwards revealed that the mer had drifted closer. startlingly closer. enough that you realized one pertinent detail that you hadn’t processed before when it had been hiding a distance away behind the rock. 

it was fucking massive. 

not ‘leviathan-class’ massive, but definitely one or two below that. its tail length alone was thrice your height with a skinny torso and unnaturally long arms. it was colored a warm gold with fluid, swirling patterns of white along its tail that reminded you of the crests of waves. bright flukes of orange tipped in white that seemed to burn through the water lined its circular head in a way that reminded you of a flower—wispy and nearly iridescent despite the sunlight from above being so far away. frills reminiscent of the burn of the setting sun decorated the side of its neck and arms. you would have been utterly captivated by the sight of it had you not noticed the mouthful of teeth it bared at you in a treacherous smile. you looked away immediately. 

whatever reason the mer had decided to venture closer for was definitely not a good one, you decided. it started to slowly circle you in a way that reminded you of a shark—not a good thing by far, though you knew sharks circled things to see them better. this mer didn’t have eyes positioned at the sides of its head like a fish, though, so there was no way the intention was the same. 

you grouched internally to yourself as you eyed the pressure gauge attached to your arm. you were running out of gas—on fumes, really. there was just enough left that your brain was starting to kick into a rapid overdrive in a vain last minute attempt to figure out what to do. but you couldn’t stop eyeing the mer, gaze latched onto its teeth that gleamed like the curve of a blade, or its white claws that cut swiftly through the water like it was mere air. 

was this thing going to eat you or what? you shuddered at the thought, then pondered if you preferred that over suffocating. you weren’t sure. you were starting to feel lightheaded.

you watched as the mer seemed to look at the netting wrapped around your leg, then at your hands, and finally at its own. its claws flexed purposely. it was close enough that it reached out with two sharp fingers to pluck tauntingly at a piece of rope. it made a series of clicking sounds—almost amused in a way? or perhaps not amused… and then you realized—as the mer swam around you again with an all-telling curve to its grin—that it was judging you. for getting trapped in something manmade. you know, as a human. 

it was humiliating. but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. your thoughts—that had been so rapid previously as you flitted through possible actions you could take to save yourself—had stuttered to a slow crawl. you were tired. you were tired and your leg hurt too damn much for you to care about some stupid mer. whatever. maybe you were hallucinating this entire thing. you closed your eyes and let yourself drift there, breaths shallow to try to milk out your remaining oxygen for as long as possible. 

…

…

the netting was getting looser. 

your eyes blinked sluggishly open just in time to see rope and wire drift away from your aching limb. you—you were free. the loss of feeling to your leg was imminent, but you were finally free. before you could process it completely, however, something grabbed you under the arms. tightly. you couldn’t even scream. all you could do was brace yourself against the rush of water as you were hauled up and up and up—a flash of gold and white accompanying you all the way until you broke through the surface with a large splash. 

[mclennonlgbt]

When you offend someone but you won't let anyone else do it because you love that person

Dave Davies: "I sometimes think that Ray was only happy for three-and-a-half years in his life. And those were the three-and-a-half years before I was born. [He] is a vain, egocentric, narcissist arsehole. [But] I won't have anybody call him that except me. Because I love him to death."

John Lennon: "I'm entitled to call Paul what I want to, and vice versa; it's in our family. But if somebody else calls him names I won't take it."

[artsyhamster]

I watched POTC some days ago and wanted to draw Izzy as part of Davy Jones' crew. AU thoughts/ramblings taken from twitte runder the cut :o

Davy Jones Pact AU where a younger Izzy almost lost Edward and begged to Davy Jones to grant him immortality (from enemy inflicted wounds, he still aged) so he can keep Ed safe during raids and everything. Davy agreed to about 20 years. [Or maybe 30 even]

So when Ed brings up the idea of retirement, Izzy is very much on board, because his own time has almost run out and if Ed retires, he knows he’ll be safe even when Izzy is gone. But then Bonnet happens and the plan seems to crumble and Izzy gets anxious.

Shit gets fucked, as expected. Izzy still gets shot. He still tells everyone to leave him behind (they refuse) but he explains his time is over, and why his soul is already fucked and begs them to leave and survive so all of this wasn’t in fucking vain. They leave. But Edward & Stede swear to get him back.

No one takes what belongs to them, not even Davy fucking Jones.

[whinlatter]

molly and fleur please, pal

let’s get it straight once and for all when it comes to molly and fleur… neither one of them covers themselves in glory. is molly rude to fleur? 100%. is fleur also rude to molly? absolutely! should molly have made fleur a christmas jumper? probably. but would fleur have called it ugly, complained that it did nothing for her figure, and sang the virtues of fine french tailoring/craftmanship? bien sûr. let’s be real - if my son moves in a girl who is openly vain, frequently rude, who partakes in heavy petting at the breakfast table and who thinks my entire life is boring, my food is disgusting, and my depressed friend has ‘let herself go’ - the tonks shade will always be as devastating as it is iconic - i probably wouldn’t reach for the knitting needles either. (i am, of course, on record as arguing that the real villain of that situation is bill my-family-home-is-girlfriend-daycare weasley. the man is moving mad in hbp and deserves far more heat for creating the problem in the first place than he gets).

my favourite thing that fleur and molly have in common, though, is that they both are partial to partaking a lil nsfw action in the hogwarts grounds. if there’d been a yule ball at hogwarts when molly and arthur were there, you can bet your ass they’d have been getting down to business in the bushes just like ms delacour and a certain mr roger davies (hogwarts shagger of the decade). i for one love that for them, and hope molly and fleur one day had a giggle about it over a nice chilled viognier/glass of eggnog.

thank you @saintsenara 🫡

[pop-sesivo]

Terence Davies (1945-2023) era el más grande director británico vivo. No tuvo el éxito comercial de John Boorman o el reconocimiento en festivales de Ken Loach. Pero ningún otro director británico retrató mejor la cultura popular de la postguerra, la alegría de los momentos mundanos y la crueldad de las convencios sociales como Davies. Privilegió la mirada de los niños y las mujeres, pero también dio protagonismo a su ciudad natal, Liverpool. Davies dio voz a su homosexualidad al igual que a su fe religiosa. Prodigó finales felices y despiadados por igual. Escribió historias originales, con grandes tintes autobiográficos, pero también fue un eficaz adaptador de novelas; no en balde, hizo dos películas sobre eminentes poetas. Terence Davies amplió los horizontes del cine británico al tiempo que hizo películas personales y conmovedoras. QEPD.

Terence Davies (1945-2023) was the greatest living British director. He didn't have the commercial success of John Boorman or the festival recognition of Ken Loach. But no other British director portrayed post-war popular culture, the joy of mundane moments and the cruelty of social conventions better than Davies. He privileged the gaze of children and women, but also gave prominence to his hometown, Liverpool. Davies gave voice to his homosexuality as well as his religious faith. He lavished happy and merciless endings alike. He wrote original stories, with great autobiographical overtones, but he was also an effective adapter of novels; not in vain, he filmed two biopics about eminent poets. Terence Davies expanded the horizons of British cinema while making personal and moving films. RIP.

[little-teacupss]

The Pirate meets his Fairy.

Note: This is a cross over with MFH, but it takes place two years prior in freshmen year, so MFH doesn't exist, and they don't know each other at all, if your wondering when 'P.S - I'll always love you' is coming out, probably soon like in two or three days! Once again, big thank you to @giveityourworst, they are my co-founder of MFH, not sure if Famey is a ship that people ship, but here we are, and once again you can give criticism without being a prick.

Warnings: my bad attempts at pirate terminology and British terminology because, unfortunately, I'm a silly American. Any British people reading please forgive me

Summary: Fay is very new to Merlin Academy as she just transferred along with Maryweather, Fauna, and Flora, but as the days go by she catches the eye of certain Sea Captain with a golden hook.

___________________________________________

Fay made her way through the halls of Merlin Academy, quite lost and unaware of what kind of terrority she'd wondered into, she was also unaware of the eyes burning into her and the glint of a certain shiny hook in the shadows that followed.

But as she kept walking she heard a deep snicker, turning around she wasn't met with anything, the same hallway she'd been walking through, as she went to turn around she felt a cold metal run down her neck, turning her head she was met with a white button down shirt, looking up her eyes meet a pair of mischievous brown eyes that matched the smirk that played on his lips he began to speak. "Aye! what does a wee fairy have around a black spot like this?"

The nervous fairy wanted nothing more, but to back away still processing how she got in this situation in the first place, but she was currently at the mercy of the sharp hook dragging up and down her jugular periodically ghosting over a vain that'd make her heart quicken, but she also wore a little confusion in her gaze as she wondered what a black spot was, as she fumbled to come up with a response. "What do you mean?"

She squeaked out pathetically as the pirate gave an amused chuckle as he gazed down at the terrified fairy as he then said. "Wee fairy, you do realize you've wondered where the bilge rats loiter around?"

Fay shook her head at the new found information, as she glanced around realizing how this hallway was a lot more gloomier, then the other hallways and corridors she'd been down, before looking back up at the pirate he then went on. "Of course, I could always lead you down a safer path."

He suggested, but didn't wait for an answer as he led her with his hook back the way she came as he began to let out a wolf whistle as he turned his head to look at her. "Say, what's your name, fairy?"

Fay let out a some hum sound as she nervously looked up at the pirate and whispered. "Fay."

He hummed in response as he twirled the fairy around and leaned her against the wall, frightening her as he said. "Aye! Me hearty, my name is Captain James Bartholomew Hook, now that were in a first name basis it's bout time you know if you spent a second longer in the black spot, I know some scallywags who'd be of been happy to send you to Davy jones locker."

Fay was still very confused with the words he was saying, like Davy Jones locker? Why would someone put her in a locker? But also, she was quite terrified as she was also pressed against the wall by 'James' as he said his name was, but how could she know if he was telling the truth or not?

"There's no reason to be shy, wee fairy?" .He said as he carefully backed a little away, so she wasn't sandwiched against the wall.

Fay let out a soft sigh as she felt a little safer as she wasn't pressed against the pirate anymore before nodding and saying. "I have to get going."

James tilts his head as he gives a pout before scratching his chin with his hook, and then his eyes light up as he says. "Why don't I guide you? Your navigation is quite unwavy."

He suggested as he also jabbed at her being fairly new to the academy and not having a clue where she was going. He then continued. "Just tell me where you need to be headed."

Fay looked down as she tried to think where the place she needed to be is, before looking up at him and opening and closing her mouth unsure do what to say, James smiles at her before saying. "Well, my wee corsair, why don't we walk around for a bit and see if we can spy where you need to be?"

He suggested as he backed away from her, letting her completely move away from the wall he'd trapped her against, Fay nodded as she began to follow James down the hallway he'd led her from before as he spoke. "Don't pay any mind to the Wenches or the bilge rats."

He waved his hand around as he explained a few things about the academy, the dos and don't, the safest areas to hang around, all the while Fay nodded as she took note of everything he said before they finally arrived to a little bridge area where three girls were waiting, the one in green turns around and quickly runs over to Fay. "Fay! Where have you been?"

Fauna quickly says as she stares at Fay before her eyes travel to the looming shadow behind her, Fauna gulped before her eyes went back to Fay's face as she whispered. "Is he gonna kill us?"

Fay giggled as Fauna cowered while holding her wand in front of her, as Fay shook her head and softly spoke. "No, Fauna he led me here I would've been completely lost without him."

As Fay said that the two other varies came the red one gave her a stern look with crossed arms and said. "Took you long enough Fay?"

Fay visibly grimaced before smiling at Maryweather, who was glowering at her for being late, while Flora peered at Fay and the pirate behind her, who was giving the three fairies a mischievous look as he piped up from behind Fay. "Aye, ye should be a little more gentle with this wee fairy, little lass just lost her compass."

James looked at the group of fairies with nostalgia, he'd never been close with the fairies of neverland and in fact been the reason some passed away, but that's another story, but he'd seen this happen a lot one group of fairies believes themselves to be superior, cough, cough, Vidiya, cough, cough, so this was quite common to see as he knew fairies were very emotional beings, and then he continued. "You wee fairies should run along now, seeing as it's almost curfew, unless, of course, you're planning to run a rig?"

The three fairies looked at each in confusion as they had no clue what 'running a rig' was, but one thing they could make out is curfew, so they walked past the two and headed back towards Merlin Academy, before Fay could follow suit she felt something hold her in place, looking down she saw his hook was hooked on her wrist, she turned to face him unsure of why he was trying to keep her.

But she didn't expect to see such a somber expression on the casanova pirate she'd gotten to know within two hours, James let out a soft sigh before smiling at the nervous fairy and saying. "It's nice to be reminded of the sea, boating, plundering, rum, sail ho, sea biscuits, but most of all, neverland, so thank you wee fairy for spending the day with me and reminding me of me home."

James said as he leaned against the railing of the bridge while Fay listened to what he said. She gave him a shy smile as she answered back. "Do you think of home often?"

"Aye, but one day I shall return." .The Sea Captain said hopefully as he gazed down at the water below the bridge. The fairy listened as he recounted to her the time he'd fought off a flying boy before going overboard and losing his hand to a crocodile and adding insult to injury. The crocodile also swallowed his alarm clock, James then said. "You're nothing like the fairies from home, your much more tolerable."

Fay giggled as he then went on off, ranting about one fairy in particular named Twinkerbell. Despite being mute, she seemed to be the loudest personality aside from Peter Pan, the flying boy.

The two hadn't even realized how much time had gone by as they shared stories as they sat on the bridge, not even noticing the loud ringing of the academy bell not too far away to signal curfew had been set in motion, Fay ranted on about the other three godmother's. "Marywheather is a genius, so smart, and she has full control over her powers, Fauna is so kind. Truly, I wouldn't have any friends if she hadn't wanted to get to know me, Flora is very determined and out spoken, she knows exactly what she wants."

Yet despite having so many good things to say about the other godmothers, she seemed to have nothing of value to say about herself, Hook smiled as he listened to her go on and on about the other fairies before piping in. "Well what about you?"

Fay gave him an uneasy look as she fiddled with the hem of her baby blue skirt.

"There's not much to say about me, unfortunately. I'm not wise, or have full control, or out spoken, I'm lucky I'm even considered a fairy. Despite both of my parents being high scholars, I seemed to be the runt of the family."

Fay said as she looked up and watched the autumn leaves fall from the trees. She heard a soft humming sound come from the pirate, and then he said. "I'd say me hearty that you're quite intelligent and kind, you give so many compliments to your fellow fairies and have such great things to say about them."

James then trailed off, not sure himself where he was heading with that. He glanced at the fairy who had a bashful expression as she bit her lower lip as she looked down at her lip. He then looked away from her and finally realized how late it had truly gotten. "Say Corsair shall I walk you back to your wee cabin?"

Fay nodded as she gave him a smile, before she could help herself up, the rounded part of a hook was moved toward her to grab onto, gently gripping the rounded part she then grabbed his other hand as he hoisted her up, before leading her back to Merlin Academy and sneaking through the many hallways before they made it to Fay's dorm.

Fay opened her door and shyly waved goodbye for now, while James said. "May yer anchor be ever tight."

Before disappearing down the hall with his hands in his red coat pockets, Fay leaned against the door, watching him walk away, before closing the door and leaning against the now closed door as she smiled to herself as she tried to figure out what the future could bring with the suava pirate.

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Hello! Thank you for reading this story. It truly means so much to me, I'm not sure if people have ever shipped these two before, so if not I may of accidently found a new ship, again, or I'm just adding onto the ship, anyway big thank you to @giveityourworst, for giving me some ideas for this story and being my co-founder for MFH, go show them some love they deserve it!

If you want to be apart of the tag list just ask!

Tagged list: @giveityourworst and @brokenmilkcrates, once again show both of them some love they are both amazing and truly some of the kindest folks I've ever met!

Anyway till the next story! Ba bye!