#frock rock fic

[superpyodan]

superpyodan's SDV playlists masterpost

i have a ton of sdv-related playlists (all on spotify) and wanted to share them in one big post that i can add to my pinned! i will add playlists if i make any more :D

fic playlists:

boys will be boys

shades of green (rip)

everybody's cool (except for me)

frog rock

kenny's playlists:

his main playlist

ecefm-adjacent playlist

character playlists:

alex

sam (wip)

ASS gang karaoke night

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

hello :3 i was wondering if i could request a lil fic with either daryl dixon or thomas hewitt about a hyper-feminine, juicy couture and lip gloss wearing, victoria secret perfume having, reader? maybe where the family is judgemental over the reader for their looks, but one of the boys stands up for the reader? (maybe end with them showing much they like how the reader dresses ¬‿¬)

and sorry if this is incoherent my ambien kickin in lolz

a/n: omg this is such a good idea. thank you so much for the request i hope you like it! <3 also i apologise for it taking so long

also, i'm not sure how in character any of this is because it's been a while since i watched any of the tcm movies so i hope this is okay <3

pairing: thomas hewitt x fem!reader

warnings: hoyt, fluff (neither of which are directly related)

word count: 659

You were wearing a yellow sundress you'd found a while back, glittery lip gloss coating your lips. You felt pretty, until you'd walked down the stairs to find Hoyt in the armchair, a snide look on his face as he looked you up and down.

"The fuck are you all dressed up for?" He scoffed, picking at the already broken leather of the chair, a bone chewed between his teeth.

You shrugged. "Nothin' wrong with wantin' to look nice from time to time."

You'd been with the Hewitts for a long time, ever since Thomas had taken a liking to you years ago. You were used to putting up with Hoyt's shit by now, choosing to simply shrug off his mocking comments and wildly inappropriate humour. He was an asshole, you knew that.

You were just here for Thomas.

Hoyt laughed, waving a hand at you. "You know there ain't nobody gonna fuck you just 'cuz you're all dressed up in some fancy fuckin' frock."

You folded your arms across your chest, glaring at him. Again, he was an asshole. And as much as you wanted to put a knife through the bastard's eye socket, he was still family.

"You think Tommy's gonna fuck you? Is that it?" He carried on, sitting forward in the chair now. "Hey, Tommy! Come on in here, boy!"

It was silent for a moment, and then you heard heavy footsteps thudding against wood, Thomas walking in from the kitchen.

Hoyt smirked, pointing a finger in your direction. "Look at your little lady friend over there. Ain't she pretty? Huh, boy?"

Thomas stayed silent, watching you from across the room.

"So?" Hoyt carried on, turning to look at Thomas. "You wanna fuck this bitch?"

You were about to say something, cuss him out, except Thomas moved first, crossing the room in seconds, forcefully pushing a large palm into Hoyt's chest. The chair rocked backwards when Hoyt's back hit the leather, Thomas towering over him, silently threatening.

You didn't know what to do as you stood there, your dress still floating around your ankles, hair standing up on your arms.

You half expected Hoyt to fight back, scold him in angry retaliation, but when Thomas withdrew his hand, Hoyt remained where he was, glaring up at Thomas.

And Thomas didn't say anything as he turned and walked towards you, roughly gripping your hand in his and leading you down to his room.

You remained silent as he stood with his back to you a moment, his shoulders gently rising and falling from taking steady breaths.

He'd stood up for you, fought back against his family in your defense. It made you giddy just thinking about it. You took a few steps towards him, cautiously brushing your fingers down his back.

He tensed under your touch, and when he turned around, you could see the reserved look behind his eyes, like he was unsure of what to do next. So you stood there, completely still, allowing Thomas to do as he pleased in his own time.

You inhaled a shaky breath when he reached a hand out towards you, dragging his fingers up your body, stopping when he reached the curve of your breast, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he took you in.

"Thomas," you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as he moved his hand up to your collarbone, fingers curling around the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

He trailed up to touch your face, stroking his palm along your cheek, all the while you remained completely still, letting him do what he wanted.

No words would ever pass his lips, but as he touched you like this, you knew. You knew that he was admiring you, revelling in your body being this close, taking in the feel of your warm skin beneath his hands.

"Thank you for taking care of me," you spoke quietly, a smile pulling at your lips. "Thank you."

[Main Masterlist]

[mistresslrigtar]

Word Search Tag Game!

Rules: In a new post use the words below (or choose your own) to find where they appear in your WIP/s and share those parts.

My words are: Eye, Glow, Door

Thank you @uwudonoodle for the tag! I have three short scenes to share from the three long fics I'm working on. (Believe me, I ask myself everyday, 'Why would you do this to yourself?')

Eye (a scene from Chapter One of We Kiss in Shadows - a gothic romance - coming soonish...)

“Is everything all right, Zelda?” Shad pulled back to study her, his brow once again furrowed.

“Yes. I enjoyed that immensely.” Shaking the feeling off, she took his hand with a smile that felt more genuine. “I’m parched. Let’s have some lemonade.”

They reached a round table that contained a large crystal punch bowl and delicate glasses. As Shad ladled lemonade into two glasses, a group of gaily chattering girls caught her eye.  Their brightly colored frocks stood in stark contrast to the large weeping willow behind them. Zelda’s breath caught in her throat when she saw a shrouded figure standing at the edge of a pond beneath the tree. 

She was certain it wasn’t her imagination this time. Her heart began racing as she angled her head toward Shad and whispered, “Do you see that over there?”

Shad followed her gaze, his expression unconcerned behind his glasses. “I see nothing but shadows, my darling.”

Door an upcoming scene from my current pirate au, Captain Link Araki and the Harbinger of Destiny - Chapters One - Eleven are available to read HERE

“This place reeks!” Darunia’s booming voice echoes off the walls, startling the birds. They take flight, heading for the large cracks in the walls and swooping toward the open door, causing the search party to duck and cover their heads with their hands.

“Sorry!” Darunia’s chagrined attempt at an apologetic whisper ricochets around the room, but there’s no wildlife left to stir up. 

Unperturbed by the ruckus, Zelda forges ahead, navigating the piles of detritus to reach the low platform. “The sword must lie beyond that door. We just need to find where to place the goddess pearls.” She glances behind her and blows out an aggravated breath. “Well, don’t just stand there! Start looking for the mechanism!” 

Gustaf hurries to join her, as she disappears behind the altar without waiting for the rest of them to respond. 

“Well, you heard her Royal Highness. Fan out!” Link orders, exchanging a look with Groose. Groose shakes his head and turns away to examine the left side of the narthex partially blocked by a fallen statue of Hylia.

Glow an upcoming scene from my current rock star au, Love is Forever - Chapters One - Sixteen are available to read HERE this story is rated E for adult content.

(this is a spoiler sneak peek for those of you reading this story. So if you don't want to know, skip this scene)

Zelda catches herself on the nearest suncap planter. Her hands burrow into the soft dirt and the edge digs into her hip. Jarring pain runs down her leg. Ignoring it she scrambles back toward the door Ghirahim has already forcefully shoved closed. The orange glow from the suncaps gives his face a hellish look as he looks through the window with a malevolent leer on his face.

“Frances! No!” Her hands slam against the laminated glass window. Fruitlessly pounding, horror grips her heart in its tight fist when he presses a few buttons on the climate control panel. The hiss of circulated air stops and the room falls into a deathly silence. 

Still wearing a sadistic smile, Ghirahim gives her a patronizing wave, waggling his fingers before turning away. Panic slowly consumes her as she watches him pick up her phone and type what she can only assume is a message to Link. Perhaps to throw him off the scent of her last call. Ghirahim carelessly drops it along with her keycard onto the lab table when he’s done and exits the lab without a backward glance.

This was fun! I tag @zeldaelmo, @bahbahhh, and @abbyz-elda

Your words are: smoke, hopeless, groan (hopefully those aren't too difficult!)

[thebettybook]

Part of Your World (Pirate Leona’s World)

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Summary: A pirate AU for @briarvalleyarchives ‘s “Anthems of Old” event focused on Captain Leona Kingscholar and his introspective angst inspired by The Little Mermaid (1989) “Part of Your World” song. Some lyrics from the song are included in this fic

Warning: None, just introspective angst from Leona and some platonic fluff with the Savanaclaw members at the end

Strawbetty’s notes: This is my first Leona fic that’s solely about Leona and not with a reader insert. There’s a lot of author’s notes I have on this fic so I’ll make a separate post for that :)

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Irises as green as lush grass fields stared out into the midnight-blue sea that stretched on for miles and miles. The waves, rocking a grand cedar and gold pirate ship called The Savanaclaw with its soft ebbs and flows, contrasted the rowdy dinner party held by The Savanaclaw’s pirate crew on deck.

Leona Kingscholar—Captain Leona Kingscholar—ran a hand through his unruly mane that cascaded past his shoulders in brunet waves. The multitude of gold rings that crowned his fingers with aquamarine, ruby, and topaz gemstones glinted against the bare moonlight.

The chilly air proved to be no foe against the lion beastman’s taupe pirate frock coat littered with tatters and tears from sword fights against enemies. Leona propped up one leg and rested his arm on his knee as he sat in a crow’s nest above the front of the ship. His white blouse, loosely tied above his collarbone, billowed softly alongside the ship’s massive linen sails around him.

Leona’s lithe fingers traced the stubborn stubble growing along his jawline; the short yet coarse strands of the stubble prickling the pads of his fingers.

Tch, I’ll have to tell Ruggie I need a trim later. It was times like this when Leona quietly acknowledged his appreciation for his Quartermaster and second-in-command Ruggie Bucchi. Life at sea meant not having to care about maintaining things Leona found troublesome like physical appearance, but even Leona hated how itchy having a stubble was.

A snicker bubbled in his throat as he heard his crew below on deck argue over the spoils they managed to swipe from the Royal Sword Merchant’s Guild earlier that day (just a couple hundred purple gems), but that snicker turned into a long-winded sigh.

Is this all life at sea has to offer? Leona couldn’t deny that a life at sea was a life of adventure. On practically a daily basis, he and his crew encountered annoying dragon princes, stole from pompous merchant guild masters, and outsmarted shady business mermen.

A life at sea was a life of freedom. No rules, no nagging, no prim and proper princely etiquette.

Land bound Leona to his life as the second prince of Afterglow Savannah, to his life where he wasn’t allowed to help make decisions and implement solutions for his country that he cared so deeply about.

Land reminded Leona that his immense magical powers of turning anything and anyone to sand at the mere palms of his hands could cause destruction and hurt others.

Not even one person would listen to his ideas. They feared him too much to do so.

Thus, everyday with his life on land, Leona felt like he didn’t have a voice.

Now at sea, Leona was free to say anything to his heart’s content—from the most benign of commands at his crew to the most lethal of swear words at his enemies.

The sea could withstand Leona’s powers and wash all his traumas and troubles away. But as vast and mighty as the sea was, a life at sea, like a life on land, could eventually make one feel trapped.

Is this all life has to offer me at ALL?

He steadied himself, planting his calloused palms onto the warm cedar floor of the crow’s nest. His nostrils inhaled the sharp notes of salt from the ocean that he grew to find comforting over the past years.

The irony. Feeling lost…again.

Leona tipped his head up to gaze at the sky’s sea of stars, shining above like diamonds no pirate could ever hope to discover in their lifetime.

Despite the pirate terminology ingrained in him over the recent years, Leona still believed the stars to be the Great Kings and Queens of the Past who would help guide those who felt lost, as he was taught throughout his life in Afterglow Savannah.

However, being raised as the second prince, Leona was also taught that he was never meant to shine like the Great Kings and Queens of the Past and that they’d never shine for him.

Heh. A snicker finally released from his mouth, one filled with all the bitterness in his body that finally seeped out from him like black ink breaking free from a broken glass bottle.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes before tumbling down his face like waves rolling onto a sandy shore as the tears made their way to the corners of his lips.

Leona brought his right palm to his cheek and flicked his tongue at the corners of his mouth to wipe and lick his tears away. Salty, maybe even more so than the ocean below.

Was he still salty about a life of being the heir to the throne that he could never have but yearned for as long as he could remember?

Was he truly salty about his own choice to become a pirate to avoid his fate of always being considered second in his own home?

Leona brought his hand up to the cluster of stars above, the tears he wiped away from his face now streaking down his wrist. His fingers curled together one-by-one as if they were trying to grab at the stars.

Up where they walk, up where they run

Up where they stay all day in the sun

Wanderin’ free, wish I could be

Part of that world

They say the grass is always greener, but Leona’s eyes glowered green with envy at the stars above as he thought about the opportunities the Great Kings and Queens of the Past—and now his elder brother King Farena—had, to make their marks on Afterglow Savannah and the world that Leona would never truly get to be a part of.

They got to roam the world freely as the firstborns, while Leona was bound to his fate as the second-born. And the damn irony was that Leona thought he was finally free to roam the world with his new chosen life as a pirate, but he now wondered if he only condemned himself to a life similar to his previous one.

Stranded, both on land and at sea.

I’ll never be part of YOUR world, ‘O Great Kings and Queens of the Past.

Then…where do I belong?

Whose world am I truly a part of?

Before Leona could mull over those questions that rocked in his mind like the waves against his ship, numerous cavalier boots thudded and shuffled against the ship’s sturdy wooden floor below him.

“Captain!” Sailing Master Jack Howl called. “Have you decided where we’re heading to tomorrow?” The wolf beastman, with his silver tufts of hair and wolf’s tail glimmering under the moonlight, craned his neck to get a good glimpse of Leona above.

Leona turned his head to look down at Jack and at the rest of the crew below. “Dunno yet, Jack.”

Jack only replied with his eyes up at Leona, diligently waiting for whatever command Leona would give him and the rest of the crew. The moon illuminated Jack’s amber eyes, which brimmed with an eager sense of duty and morality that was lost amongst most pirates.

Before Leona could tell them all to “buzz off,” Ruggie stepped forward. The hyena beastman rested his arms behind his head of short sandy-blond hair and offered what Leona could only make out as a half-smile as the sails hid half of Ruggie’s face with their gentle shadows.

“We’re merely part of your world, Captain,” Ruggie raised an eyebrow, his half-smile growing into a full smile as he stepped forward once more and the moon revealed his entire face.

While he was one of the few in the crew allowed to call Leona by first name, Ruggie chose to call Leona “Captain” at that moment as a sign of his sincere respect that grew for Leona over the years.

“Wherever you go, we follow. Right, everyone?” Ruggie’s slate orbs met Leona’s emerald ones.

“Right!” The crew voiced their agreement loud and proud like fiery cannons blasting into the sky one-by-one.

Leona’s emerald orbs that simmered with envy towards the stars just a few moments ago now glowed with warm embers of pride as he gazed down at all his crew members looking up at him with a different kind of fire in their eyes—a fire that burned with their admiration, excitement, and respect for whatever words would leave his lips.

Instead of words blooming from Leona’s lips, a small yet soft grin did.

For the past few years, Leona’s crew sailed alongside him. They fought alongside him. They cried tears and cheers for him.

It seems I’ve been part of a world all along.

Leona was part of his crew’s “world,” a little “world” that he himself created on this ship. He was forever his crew’s leader. Forever their Captain.

And maybe being part of this little “world” he learned to create and share with others, would someday be enough.

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Writer and Leona recap (It’s been so long since I’ve done these!! -🍓)

Strawbetty: *On Savanaclaw’s pirate ship* Oh no, I hope I don’t fall into the arms of a lion beastman pirate captain who’s super cool and handsome ;0 *Falls backwards*

Leona: *Catches me at the last possible minute and sighs while wearing his pirate outfit* Simp.

Strawbetty: Only for you ;)

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Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Leona content? Check out my masterlist.

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[hookedonapirate]

Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you everyone so much for sticking with me, and I hope you have enjoyed this fic!

Thank you Ultraluckycatnd for being an amazing beta reader!

Based on Lady Chatterley's Lover for @captainswanmoviemarathon

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Epilogue

It’s been two months since Hope Swan-Jones was born, yet Killian is still mesmerized by her impossible beauty. Those dazzling, big blue eyes gazing up at him, her bright, gummy smile, her chubby cheeks. Mesmerized but not shocked. She gets her looks from her mother after all. Today, Hope is wearing her pink baby bonnet and a lacy frock adorned with a silk bow at the neckline that her mother had sewn. The color matches the stockings Emma still wears with her dresses.

He could hold Hope forever, his sweet baby girl cute and tiny and soft, snuggled up against his chest with her hand tightly wrapped around his finger as he gently rocks her in his arms. He’s weak when it comes to his baby girl, and he often wonders how such a tiny little being has so much power over him, a grown-ass man. From the outside, it may look like he has her wrapped around his finger, but in truth, it’s entirely the other way around.

He lowers his head to drop a gentle kiss on her head.

She’s so precious to him, just as her mother is, and he’d do anything for his two beauties. Their smiles are infectious, and his face hurts from smiling so much. That’s how happy they both have made him.

Jolly is roaming around the yard as Killian looks around, taking stock of everything he has been blessed with since Emma entered his life. He may have lost his job and cottage back in Misthaven but all of that was nothing compared to what he has gained in return. Now he has Emma all to himself instead of having to watch her leave him every day and return to another man who couldn’t even bother to make sure she was happy. He gets to sleep with her in their bed, wakes up next to her every morning and holds her in his arms. He may have to leave for work early but he does so, knowing he’ll get to return to his darling fiancé and adorable baby girl and the life they’ve made together. And yes, he replaced the stem ring he gave her a year ago with a real one. They may not be able to get married yet but that doesn’t mean he can’t think of her as his wife. She and Hope are his family.

His home.

And he’d do anything for them.

He’s not even sure how he’d left Emma and didn’t see her for those two months she was in Venice. They were the worst two months of his life, and that’s saying a lot since he’s been to war. But when she fled from London after he’d been sacked and wanted to leave with him right there and then, all he could do was hear Mary Margaret’s words in his head.

“Mr. Jones, how do you expect to take care of her and the child once you’ve lost your job? Do you actually believe you can give them both a chance at happiness?”

He didn’t think he could at the time, given the circumstances. He had nothing. And Emma and their child deserved so much better than what he had to offer. He had all of his love to give, yes, but he wanted to give them so much more than that. He still does. He wants to give them the entire world. Because they’re his world. They’re his everything.

After a while, Hope stirs in his arms restlessly, and the high-pitched wail that pours from her mouth makes his heart crack into a million pieces. He hates when she has anything but a smile on her face.

Jolly is sitting in the grass as she looks at the crying baby with concern. She rises and strides over to make sure Hope is okay. She adores Hope and is very protective of her.

“It’s okay, princess,” Killian coos to his baby girl, gently rubbing her small back and swaying her softly. “Mum’s just inside to feed you.” He stands from his chair and carries her into the house, Jolly following behind him.

The kettle is singing by the fire, the sun streaming into the windows as Emma places two cups on the table. Hearing the soft cries from their daughter, she turns around and comes over to them, scooping the wee baby into her arms and kissing Killian on the lips.

“I think she’s hungry.” He unties Hope’s bonnet and removes it from her head, pressing his lips to her golden wisps of hair.

Emma smiles and speaks to their daughter in a sweet voice, her emerald eyes so soft and warm as she looks at the adorable baby girl in her arms. 

Killian melts, as he always does, when he sees the interactions between them.

“Is Hope hungry?”

She answers with an even louder cry.

Emma can't help but laugh a little as she kisses Hope's forehead. “I think she is.” She rocks her gently as she walks over to the wooden chair and sits down, untying the front of her dress and releasing one of her breasts. Hope’s cries quickly abate as she fumbles for her mother’s breast and latches on to her nipple, suckling quietly.

He adds some more wood to the fire and returns to his wife and daughter. “How did you sleep, love?” He places a hand on Emma’s shoulder and drops a kiss to the top of her head.

I will protect both of them with my life , he thinks to himself as he admires his two loves.

“It was good, thank you.” She smiles up at him. “I needed that.” She definitely looks more rested than she did before she took a nap.

Hope may be cute and small, but she keeps them up most nights. Only once in a while does she sleep through the night until morning. When he’s home, he does as much as he can so Emma can get some rest, but today, Hope has been particularly fussy and refuses to sleep, so Killian took her out in the garden with Jolly while Emma rested.

After Hope is done eating and burping, Emma stands up and carries their daughter to her bassinet. Perhaps now she’ll be tired enough to sleep.

Killian gives his daughter a featherlight kiss on the forehead, whispering, “Goodnight, little love.”

Emma also gives Hope a kiss before lowering her into the bassinet. “I love you very much. Pleasant dreams, kiddo.”

He goes behind his fiancée and wraps his arms around her as they watch their tiny precious daughter breathe softly, drifting off into baby dreamworld. “Fuck, she’s beautiful.” Killian tightens his arms around Emma and lowers his head, kissing her neck. “Just like her mother.” He kisses her blushing cheeks and grins against her soft skin. “What do you say we make another one of those?”

She turns around in his arms so they’re facing each other and wraps her arms around the back of his neck, arching a brow. “Another girl?” One of her breasts is still out, and he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself by thinking she left it out on purpose but a lad can dream, can’t he?

“Or a boy.” He flashes a smirk. “I’ll love whatever we make together.”

Emma giggles and leans in to give him an eager kiss of approval. When they turn their heads back to look at Hope, she’s sleeping soundly. Neither of them can help but have smiles on their faces.

When they turn to look at each other again, Emma’s eyes sparkle as she rises on her tiptoes and captures his lips with hers. She swallows his groan as she rests her hands on his chest, his heart speeding up rapidly under her palms.

He draws her closer in his arms, their bodies flush against each other as he strokes her tongue with his, getting lost in the kiss. He growls into her mouth when he reaches up and feels her naked breast against his palm and lets his hand linger there, his cock stirring to life. It’s been months since they’ve kissed like this or made love. He has been patient and would never pressure her into anything before she’s ready. But judging by the soft moans she’s making as he caresses her bare breast, the way her body molds into his, he’d guess she’s ready. But still, he has to be sure.

He breaks the kiss, leaving them both gasping for air. “Is this okay?” he wheezes, his voice completely wrecked.

She nods fervently and licks her lips. “More than okay.” Her voice is also wrecked as she slides her hands up to his shoulders, squeezing them firmly. “I want you inside me.”

Her words and the lust in her eyes are all the confirmation he needs. “Fuck,” he whispers huskily and kisses her soundly on the lips. He pushes down the other sleeve of her dress and lets the top fall below her hips. 

She tugs at his sweater and he raises his hands so she can lift it over his head, and soon all their clothes are on the floor and he’s carrying her to the bed. He kisses every inch of her, his lips worshiping the goddess she is. The mother of his child. His lover. His everything.

He takes his time exploring her body, tracing her stretch marks with his lips and gently kissing her breasts and stroking her tender nipples with his soft tongue. She writhes underneath him and spreads her legs wide.

Killian growls, his cock hard as a rock as he gets settled in the cradle of her lovely thighs and dips his head into the crook of her neck, kissing her there, whispering sweet nothings against her skin.

Emma answers with heady sounds of her own as she reaches between them and wraps her hand around his cock, stroking him. They both moan, panting heavily as he rocks into her fist, Killian’s voice gravelly when he says, “I can’t wait to have you, love.”

“Killian…” She’s breathless, her eyes gleaming with so much want and need and love. She moves the tip of his cock to her entrance and inhales sharply at the sensation, different but so familiar.

Killian groans at the feeling of having Emma around him again, even if only around the tip. He waits patiently for her to give him the signal to go deeper, and she pulls him closer, wrapping her legs around his back. He moves achingly slow, pushing himself steadily into her and then retreating.

As he thrusts into her warmth gently and sweat pools on his forehead, he exhales ragged breaths over her face. “Fuck, Emma,” he growls. “You feel so good.”

She answers with a low moan.

His hand migrates up the swell of her tender breast and he moves his thumb over her nipple, making it pebble beneath the pads of his fingers.

Emma continues urging him on as his hips roll against her, his pace languid but pleasing. He reaches between them, pressing lightly against her clit and drawing circles on her. She throws her head back as their escalating cries blend together.

When Emma’s climax overtakes her, she cries out in ecstasy.

He picks up the pace, heat spreading through him as he chases his own orgasm. “Does this hurt?” he asks, even though he can’t detect a hint of pain in her eyes. But he has to be sure.

She shakes her head. “Not at all. It feels good,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.” Framing his cheeks in her warm hands, she seizes his lips with hers as he pounds into her. Soon, he can feel her walls flutter around him once more and they both orgasm together, swallowing each other’s moans so they don’t wake their daughter. He stills, her name heavy on his lips as he explodes inside his sweet goddess, his muscles tense and his grip firm.

Moments after they come down from their highs, he’s lying beside her, and she’s in his arms, their limbs intertwined as they lay there in bed, the duvet swaddling them in warmth and security.

“Do you think we woke her?” Emma asks, her face clouding concern once she comes back to reality and sits up.

“I will check, love.” He kisses her forehead and climbs out of bed to check on Hope, who’s still sleeping like an angel. He returns to his fiancée and pulls her into his arms. “Still sleeping.”

Emma breathes a sigh of relief and lays her head on Killian’s chest. “Sorry, I know I worry about her far too much.”

He chuckles and moves some stray hairs from her face. “You’re just being a mum.” He smirks. “A great one at that.”

“And you’re a great papa. I am so glad you’re in our lives. I’m so glad Neal didn’t try to keep our baby. He would’ve been sorely disappointed she’s not a boy anyway.”

Killian tenses at the mention of him. After they burned the wedding photo of him and Emma, they have barely mentioned him, neither of them wanting the past to darken their bright, happy sky. They only want to be reminded of the good parts. So they framed the key from the hut and the letter he wrote her and hung it on the wall.

He’ll never forget the times they met in the hut. Especially the first time they made love. It wasn’t exactly making love that time—it was more like animalistic fucking—and he might have done things a little differently if he could but he'd never take back the time they spent together and their blossoming relationship. He is so proud of her for telling Neal she wanted a divorce, and of course he told her he wouldn’t grant her one, but that was expected.

“He’d only succeed over my dead body,” Killian snarls.

“Mine too. I’m so glad I never wanted to go along with Neal’s plan.” She looks up at him, her fingers teasing his chest hair. “I may not have planned on you, but I would never want it any other way.” She flashes him a smile. “It still surprises me how happy I am. When I was with Neal, I never thought I would be.”

He grins from ear to ear, his heart bursting as he kisses her lips. “Aye, love. Me too.” He gazes deeply into her eyes, stroking her cheek. “Would you change anything? Anything at all?” he asks, knowing the life they have now is vastly different from the one she once had. She went from living on a large estate with servants to living in this small cottage with just the two of them raising a child together. 

She gives a firm shake of her head, her eyes glistening with tears. But they’re not sad tears. She rests her forehead against his, cupping his cheek in her hand and caressing her thumb over his stubble. “No. Only I wish to be married to you instead of Neal. But I wouldn’t trade the life we have here for anything in the world.”

Neither would he. He also wishes he could be married to her instead of Milah.

It still amazes him how much different things are now than they were when they first met. Emma was just as beautiful but he could tell she was a little broken, and to him, she was untouchable. He never thought in a million years she would fall for a fellow like him. She was out of his league. She had wealth and the rarest of beauty and a title. Maybe that’s why he was so quick to believe she had only wanted him for a child after she confessed she was pregnant. Thank God he was wrong.

He was foolish for thinking such a thing. He knew better than that. But he couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation as to why she liked him. And during those two months they were apart, he had time to reflect and he knew what they have between them was deeper than any class difference or what society thought of the two of them together. Emma felt the flame burning between them just as he did. The flame that still burns between them and always will.

~*~

A year later, they both get their wish.

It turns out Milah attracted some fool at the tavern the night she played victim and was spreading all those lies about Killian and how he’s the one who abandoned her for someone else, and how he never took care of her. Some sap devoured every word she said, took pity on her and promised to give her a better life. Killian doubts the bloke made good on that promise.

And Neal—well, the irony of this all is that he ended up falling in love with one of the servants he hired after Emma had left. Her name is Tamara, and Johanna is sure she is only after his wealth and title. But Johanna didn’t stick around long enough to see what came of them. After she left, Emma and Killian hired her as Hope’s nurse, and since Emma gave birth to a boy shortly before they married, Johanna is Liam’s nurse as well. Emma also invested some of the money her mother left her to start a farm with Killian where they raise cattle, sheep, pigs, horses and livestock feed. Now there is rarely a quiet moment at the Swan-Jones Farm, with two rambunctious children, animals to take care of and visitors always coming over.

It took some time for Leopold to warm up to Killian after what happened in Goldby but considering he adores his grandchildren as if they were his own children, he’s not bitter about it. He knows Killian is a hardworking man who loves his family more than anything in the world. And Killian and David eventually became good mates. He and Mary Margaret had a son of their own named after Leopold. So whenever they go on holidays, it’s the four of them plus their children. 

Emma can't believe how much her life has changed in only a few years. She thought she was stuck in a loveless marriage with a man she would never love, with a man who would never give her what she needed or craved. She thought she would never get to experience a real married life with someone kind and caring and affectionate. With someone who put her and their children before himself. Now she has a loving family, a loving husband she wakes up to every morning, a man she would do anything for. She would do anything to keep this life. She would die for her family. She can't believe she was ever with Neal, that she ever settled for a life with him. It's surreal how unhappy and desolate she was because now she is so extremely happy and her heart is so unbelievably full.

Her days may be filled with crying babies, changing diapers, cleaning up messes and running a farm with her husband, and she may not live on a large estate with servants and fancy things, but in her eyes, she is living the life of luxury she has always dreamed of.

[inthememetime]

Friend, you inspired a whole entire Ghost Riders in the Sky themed fic.

She was flying low over the plains of Texas when she heard them- hoofbeats. Her ghost sense flared up just before she caught the sound of low whistling, the lowing of cattle, and oddly metallic hoofbeats.

A dull red glow began to brighten in the west- the wrong time and direction for sunrise. Her first thought was 'wildfire', but the wind didn't bring smoke or heat.

Well, she wouldn't be Dani Phantom if she didn't at least check it out! She darted up until she started to see the makings of a glowing red herd of cattle galloping northwest, chased by faintly glowing figures on horseback.

She turned to chase them down and found they were going almost too fast for her- she wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.

"Hi!" She shouted.

The ghost nearest to her, a skeleton in tattered cowboy clothes with a dull orange glow on the back of a horse made of bones and shadows, looked at her briefly. "Where's your horse, rider?"

"I don't have one! Why are you chasing the cows? Won't humans see?"

It grunted but made no other attempt to reply. After a few unsuccessful attempts to speak, she flew straight up to take a quick break, then darted forward to speak to the next rider, this one on a horse made of burning coals with a bright yellow glow.

"Hi! What are you doing?"

"We ride to catch the herd, little lady," it rasped, "been a century at least, but we ain't caught 'em yet."

"Can I help?"

It laughed- but not meanly, she thought. It was hard to tell when it didn't have a face. "Yer pretty quick, little lady. Get ya a horse, 'n maybe. Don't count on it though- these cows ain't meant to be caught."

"So why do you chase them?" She pushed past the sensation of breathlessness- she didn't need to breathe, after all.

"We swore solemn oaths, and broke them," shouted another skeleton, clad in a ladies' riding frock and legging astride a horse of steel. "Any of us who catches one of the devil's herd will be granted a wish- rest, freedom, or anything else."

That was interesting, but- wait. That gave her an idea. "Do you know if catching one of the cows lets you wish to be independent of a ghost parent before aging out?"

"Yes, it certainly do!" The skeleton on the coal horse agreed. "Anything you want. Gonna be a rider?"

Might as well- it would at least be a little fun. "Know where I can get a ghost horse?"

"Ask the whistling wind!"

As the sun rose, the riders and herd faded out of view, then sound. Huh. The whistling wind.

After a few days of mindless wandering, she'd realized the cowboys (cow people? There was a girl, maybe) were having a laugh at her expense. "Ask the whistling wind," she grumbled, "I've just been talking to myself like a moron."

She kicked a rock only to find it was more solidly placed than she thought and winced. "Stupid cool-looking cowboys on stupid cool horses."

"Having boy troubles?"

Dani jumped and spun. Somehow, perhaps due to the sharp sounds of the storm brewing through long grass or the traffic from the highway a few hundred feet away, she hadn't noticed the woman sitting on the brown fencepost of the barbed wire fence.

The seemingly normal woman set off her ghost sense- in a big way. The way only Clockwork or Pandora did. Danielle took a step back. "Something like that. Sorry to disturb you, I'm just going to go."

She tilted her head, and Dani saw her eyes were bright red. The noise from the highway disappeared.

"But you've looked so hard for me," the ghost began gently, "I've heard you speak to me in every breeze for three nights. It was only now that you thought to address me during the day."

"But ghosts only come out during the night," Dani asked, "At least, outside of places with a ton of ecto. Right?"

The woman smiled, showing no teeth. "Indeed, dear girl- but I am the spirit of the Whistling Wind. I ride with those who charge the open plains, who sing to me in day and night. I am a spirit of the Wild Hunt- I don't follow all of your rules."

Wild Hunt. She racked her mind and swallowed when she realized she'd invoked one of the fae. Their rules were almost, but not exactly, the same as a ghost's. "Um. Whistling Wind of the Wild Hunt, I greet you," she said politely. Manners were everything with the fae.

"And I, you," she said. "What is your name?"

"Dani-" she began, only to cut herself off. At least that was only a nickname. "Everyone calls me Dani."

"Dani," she said, "a novel name for a girl. I'll take that from you if you make a deal with me," she warned.

"It's only a nickname, not my real one," she said in confusion. Didn't fae always want the real one?

The Whistling Wind grinned wolfishly. "I know. Someone related to you has upset another member of the Hunt. But if you give me that name and take a new one, you'll be off the hook and I'll have won that bet with Loptr."

She couldn't help but grin back, but steadied her face. "Um, are you sure it'll be a fair deal? I'm asking for a ghost horse, and to be one of the riders with the same wish if I catch a cow," she said, then quickly added, "but I don't want to be trapped like them, of course."

The ghost nodded solemnly. "Making you a Ghost Rider- that's easy enough. But with your freedom is the tricky part," she said. "What would you wish for, if you won?"

"Um. So do you know how ghosts have ghost parents until they're a few centuries old?"

"Yes," she confirmed, "Though it's been a very long time ago for me."

"Well, mine is kind of horrible and evil, so I want to be free of him. But I don't want to trade him for someone just as manipulative, which is hard because he doesn't fight fair."

"Ah," said the spirit. "A desire for freedom I can respect. Very well. Give me the name of Dani, which you'll never be able to use to refer to yourself again, and your service for the yearly Wild Hunt for 10 years. Do this, be bound by it, and I shall give you a fitting horse and make you a Rider without their curse, and allow you to make a wish should you succeed,"

"Our agreement cannot be broken or adjusted. Are we of an accord?"

Dani thought carefully. "Yes," she eventually agreed, "I, D-"

She couldn't say her name, and she didn't want to risk saying her full name. Dani just wouldn't come out, for some reason. "I, Phantom, agree."

"Then walk on your own legs due East until the sun rises- in either form. There, you will find your horse and your fellow riders. Good luck, Phantom."

She nodded, remembering at the last moment not to thank her. "Hopefully, I'll see you soon!"

Filled with hope, she started at a quick walk (it was best to be literal with the fae) east.

-

The hope lasted about two hours. The curiosity remained, however, as she trudged on at a steady pace. It was a good thing she was experienced with stealing Vlad's cash or food and filling up her large hiking bag and the pockets of her cargo pants; it meant she had plenty of easy-to-eat snacks and plenty of clean water and other drinks.

After four hours, she shifted into her ghost form to cool down- even in October, the heat was no joke. The sun set, and she yawned, exhausted.

"Pretty sky," she said to herself and, despite her pained legs, kept on.

At sunrise, she'd never been so tired- not even when she'd been destabilizing. Finally, she stopped and let herself sit, easing her cramped legs. Ellie dumped the remains of her water over her head and leaned back against a tree.

An hour or so later- it was hard to tell, as she'd been dozing- she was woken by her ghost sense, a sharp chill up her backbone. She opened one eye and saw, to her muted delight, a skeletal horse clad in what looked like medieval heavy armor. Its' eyes burned bright green, just like her own.

"Hey, big guy. Or girl. What's your name?"

She didn't expect an answer, and so was doubly surprised by the sudden influx of images and sounds that invaded her mind.

Charging onto a battlefield. Screams of horses and men alike. Arrows caught on armor plates, lance in the side. Shieldbreaker. Wraith of the battlefield, pestilence, venom of a snake, infected wound.

She gagged a little. "So that's a little bit long. How about just...Shieldbreaker? That's pretty cool, right?"

It huffed and nodded with the clanking of metal and harnesses. "Well, I'm-"

She thought for a moment. "You know, Phantom technically belongs to someone else, and I just sold my nickname. How about I be Wraith for now?"

It nodded again and patiently gnawed on some grass nearby.

Shieldbrraker sent her more mental images. Rest. War begins tonight. Campfire. The chase. Breaking of shields and battle lines.

"Sounds good. Wake me up at dark, please?"

The ghost horse flicked its bony tail in response, and she dozed off once more.

-

Her deal with Whistling Wind didn't include being automatically able to ride, she discovered the third time she fell from Shieldbreaker's back. Still, she climbed back on, and they chased after the so-called Devil's Herd, their steel hooves ringing loudly whenever they hit asphalt or stone.

The ride, she discovered, began at sunset and ended at dawn. Once the sun rose, the cattle were gone, and she and the other riders appeared in some sort of liminal space.

Her phone still showed October 28, 3 PM. It hadn't lost any charge, but it had lost all service. Over the next few days, she learned about her companions; some, like her, made deals to chase the herd. Others were oathbreakers or made deals with evil beings.

Slim- the talkative cowboy from the other night- introduced himself as hailing from the territory of Kansas, while Horace was from the nation of Texas. Highnoon- the woman in the riding dress- said she was from the California territory.

They hadn't been kidding when they said some of them were centuries old! The three ghosts gave her lessons in exchange for stories about what the world was like now.

Slim wanted to know about new guns, mostly, while Highnoon, who'd forgotten her name, wanted to know about everything from women's rights to the Temperance movement. Horace asked only for myths, tales, and legends- he was still as quiet as the first day, but like many of the Riders, wasn't hostile.

Most of them didn't care who she was or what she did- they wanted to catch the Devil's Herd, and as long as she didn't get in the way, they were fine with her.

It was impossible to tell how many days, weeks, or even months she'd spent away; sometimes the sun moved West to East instead, or there were two moons, and again- she had no way to communicate. She couldn't even judge by the state of her supplies, as she never became hungry or thirsty, even in human form.

Every night at sunset, they'd howl and scream as they charged after the herd, and every sunrise, nothing would happen in their dim world with eternally rolling storm bands.

Ellie talked to her new friends and Shieldbreaker, chased the herd, practiced, and chased the herd over and over. She thought many times about using the escape clause Whistling Wind had given her, but knew that would lead to breaking their deal.

And, likely, gaining the full curse of the riders.

So she rode every night, slowly growing a little faster, riding a little longer. And rode. And rode. And rode again.

Until one night, roughly a year or so after she came- it was hard to tell, as the little marks on Shieldbreaker's saddle didn't always stay there. At least a year and a half. Maybe longer.

It had been chance, pure and simple, or maybe fate, that caused the bull to trip- but trip it did, and she took the opportunity by the horns. Immediately, before she could shout a goodbye, or maybe a question, she was in the middle of a dry valley, a black horn still in her hand. To her relief, Shieldbreaker was under her as usual, though the warhorse was clearly confused.

And then it happened- a buzz on her phone. Just one vibration, then a flood as the device searched for data and updated.

She pulled it out- October 28th, same year, same time. But she was in Montana now. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"Chasing the herd," a voice she'd heard once said. She urged Shieldbreaker around and found herself face-to-face with Whistling Wind. "They'll remember you, and perhaps when they catch one, will find you as a friend. Or not. It depends on the wish."

"I almost forgot the wish," she said.

The spirit smiled. "I did not. Be free from your old ties," she said, and the part of her core attached inextricably to Vlad's broke off, becoming wholly her own. "Remember your promise, Rider of the eternal plains, and I will see you next year for the Wild Hunt."

Ellie laughed brightly. "I feel it! It's gone!"

"Ride like the wind, then, wherever you go. May the breeze always favor you, once-Dani."

"I will! It's Wraith, now, I think."

"I'll see you soon- or late. Time is such a tricky thing."

And she was gone, leaving Ellie with Shieldbreaker- now a large black horse- and an eternity being her own master in front of her.

(Image sources: here, here, here, from the Same Energy site)

[licncourt]

Well now I MUST know about the NPC outfits!

Okay so I created some approximate visual aids

-

My go to for Louis is always some kind of billowy top (usually poet shirt or loose sweater) tucked into very fitted, high-waisted trousers or black jeans with a long tailored coat and Balmoral boots. Basically a modern version of the silhouette he grew up with (flowy shirt, tight pants, frock coat, boots)

-

Lestat's look is very 80s inspired whether I'm imagining him IN the 80s or not (though I do think he'd like to try out trends). He gets a flashy top of some kind (usually bright patterned silk, see-through mesh, etc) or a graphic tee, light wash skinny jeans, a bomber jacket (denim or leather), and motorcycle boots. He's still living his rock star fantasy

Basically if I don't describe what they're wearing in a fic and it takes place post-IWTV, you can just imagine this because that's probably what I was thinking of

[rosemochi]

I posted 2,871 times in 2022

29 posts created (1%)

2,842 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lets-jam

@tofucasserole

@rosemochi

@ghotdhow

@fury-brand

I tagged 439 of my posts in 2022

#ff7 - 127 posts

#talented friends!! - 24 posts

#me - 19 posts

#blessed - 17 posts

#my fic - 17 posts

#final fantasy vii - 17 posts

#ffvii - 17 posts

#yeah - 15 posts

#nier - 15 posts

#vinti - 13 posts

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

White Lilies.

She throws the curtain open. Light floods the change room, a dim array of purples and pinks, spun with gold from the dimming sunset sky. The skirt turns violet in the light, and when he spins in it, the lily-covered fabric takes a life of its own—as if it were living and breathing just as much as the flowers they’d left behind in Midgar. He’s smiling, and when he looks up, he realizes that Aerith is smiling too.

“Wow,” she whispers. She’s still standing in the change room, seemingly frozen by the sight of him in the cheap frock. Cloud meets her rapturous gaze and blushes, a flash of electrifying heat twisting his stomach. He realizes, with a silent gasp, that he’d happily step into a thousand skirts if it meant that Aerith would look at him like that again. “You look beautiful,” she says, a deep blush dusting her cheeks. The grin on her face is as brilliant as the setting sun. “So pretty.”

Aerith's last gift—and what it means to the man she left behind. Based on this beautiful fanart by @tofuthebold. View it here!

(Read the rest on AO3!)

23 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

#4

Repletion (FFVII, VinTi vampire AU)

Chapter 8: Everlasting

And the reason he’s wavering so easily, lured to distraction by her scent and her sweet, tender touches, is because of one simple truth:

Vincent doesn’t want to leave.

If he could find a way to survive without burdening her, somehow fix himself and make it possible—he would. He’d do it in a heartbeat. Because Vincent is, at his core, selfish, and his selfish heart wants Tifa Lockhart more than air. More than her blood. More than revenge, even, and that was the reason he’d even stepped out of the coffin in the first place.

Their arrangement had been dissolved a long time ago. What replaced it had been a mutual understanding between them: that he was a man in need, and she cherished him enough to provide for him. That’s why he hasn’t considered her wants and needs—because if he discovers they align with his true desires, he’ll lose. It’s why he’s so weak, ready to capitulate at her command—because he wants her enough that his desires supersede all sense.

If Tifa asks him to stay, then Vincent is powerless to say no.

(Read on AO3!)

23 notes - Posted March 13, 2022

#3

19 or 49 for aeriseph if possible pwease

II. coming home.

Aerith stood on the precipice of the universe and watched him as he gorged himself.

Her planet wasn’t the only life-bearing rock in the universe. Did it have a name? Perhaps it did, once upon a time, but she had forgotten it long ago, its syllables sliding off her tongue and evaporating into the cosmos. There were others, vibrant and lively, rotating peacefully around their own suns; they were full of lush grass, blue skies, rolling hills, prosperous beings and vast currents of Lifestream, snaking through the soil like roots on a tree.

He devoured them all. One by one, each quicker than the last.

(Read the rest on AO3!)

24 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#2

This Is How The World Ends (FFVII, Gen)

The realtor sighs. He bends down, rifles through a drawer, and throws a set of keys onto the counter. "All yours."

Tifa frowns. Isn't he going to inspect the bags? They could've given him marbles, for all he knows. "Aren't you going to—"

"The hell do I care? World's ending!" The realtor points out the window. "Haven't you people noticed?!"

Indeed, they’ve noticed. Meteor hangs over the sky, hovering in place of the sun; its presence mutes Costa del Sol's beauty, dampening the sound of the waves and the brilliant turquoise waters. The instrument of their doom demands attention, and Tifa simply can’t take her eyes away from it.

And she knows that everybody else feels the same—that the coastal town has lost its allure in the face of the coming apocalypse. But truly, what else are they supposed to do? They have no idea what to do next, and they might as well rest up somewhere that’s cozier than the Highwind.

After Shinra No. 26 crashes, the party travels to Costa del Sol to relax and decide on their next move. Written for @ff7ogzine! You can read and download the free zine here.

(Read the rest on AO3!)

25 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Floriography.

The rest of the night crawled by, slow as molasses. Aerith bided her time, going through the motions—eating dinner, watching some cartoons, reading a bedtime story with Elmyra—until Elmyra was fast asleep in her own bedroom, dead to the world. Aerith quietly snuck out, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Thankfully, she was just tall enough to unlatch the front door.

The garden was even more beautiful at night. Little fireflies flew across the barren dirt, looking for a home, lighting Aerith’s way. She kneeled in the freshly-tilled dirt and put her face to the ground, ignorant of the stains on her brand-new nightgown. “Please grow,” she whispered to the mounds. “Please. Pretty please. I’ll give you anything if you do. I don’t know what you eat, but I’ll give you extra water…”

A breeze rippled through the garden, sending Aerith’s loose hair flying. A noise soon followed, ringing through the air, so light that Aerith could barely catch it—a faint whisper of a song, light and airy and beautiful, chanted in unison by a hundred thousand voices. It disappeared as quickly as it came, and when Aerith lifted her head from the ground, she didn’t see anything different—just the barren garden. With a sigh, she brushed herself off and walked back to the door, giving the garden one last glance before sneaking back inside.

Aerith's childhood wish is to see the outdoors. After tragedy strikes, robbing Aerith of her opportunity to escape Midgar, she struggles to adjust to her new reality—until she learns, with the help of her new guardian, that she can grow joy wherever she goes. Written for @aerith-zine! Beautiful art by c-dra (twitter)! 💖

(Read the rest on AO3!)

28 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[peakyblinders1919]

Heat Wave

“It’s hotter in here than a Devil’s tits in church.” She fanned herself with a sigh, the curled ends of her new flapper cut sticking to her apple cheeks. Her skin was glistening in sickly sweet sweat. Even she felt like she was showing too much skin for a flapper; her blue frock the lasted summer fashion from Chanel that was a runway season ahead because it was too damn hot to wear the sleeved spring designs.

But there was at least one person in the room who liked what they saw. Michael Gray; the dark-haired, green-eyed mysterious gangster from London who was making a name and reputation for himself in New York, just like the southern belle trying to fit into the flapper world of life in the city. 

She could feel his eyes on her every once in a while, watching how she fanned herself, chin pointed up towards the fan, beads of sweat trickling down her neck towards her bosom.

She wasn’t blameless either, her eyes glued to him across the room, watching as he looked for relief in his glass of whiskey. She watched his lips curve around the glass, her thoughts beginning to wander, her cheeks growing hotter at her thoughts...

“Oh, you and your euphemisms...” one of their friends tutted. It was a normal Tuesday afternoon. The young elite of New York were spending it like they would have, an extended lunch break filled with gossip, jazz music, bottomless drinks of imported alcohol in crystal glasses. 

“I’m sorry that it’s hotter than hell and half of Georgia, I can’t help it.”

“Also known as a heat wave love,” Michael said with a shrug, eyes on her as she stretched along the chaise to get more air wafting over her from the fan.

“Well heat wave or not, if it gets any hotter, I'll have to take off stuff I really ought to keep on.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad option to me; if it’ll cool you down that is...”

“I’m sure you would like that.”

“I would.”

Just like that it seemed ten degrees hotter in the room, unbearable really as she undid just the topmost button and fished an ice cube out of the bowl in front of the fan and pressed it to her neck until it dripped into her skin. And her he still watched her closely, licking hips lips, dying of thirst.

“What did you used to do down in those southern heat waves?”

“Southern heat waves were just normal summer days; we lived at the beach.”

“I’ve never been to the beach...”

“Never? Do they not have beaches in England?” She was surprised to say the least when there actually weren’t many. “What would you do at a beach anyway? Sweat in your suit?” She couldn’t imagine him in swimming pants wading into the water, but she could picture it really, her mind wandering.

“Why don’t you take me to one and you’ll find out...”

She was expecting that, reaching forward to get a cool glass of water and cool herself down again. “Well... it seems like you’ve forgotten we’re in the heart of the city, no beaches around here Mr. Gray. Unless you can conjure one up with all that money of yours.”

“While it can’t do that, it could definitely conjure up a private jet to one of those beaches you were talking about...”

“Might as well sweep us off to Antarctica at this rate.” Fanning herself again she felt momentary relief, smiling under his stare as it now felt like it was only the two of them in the room. “You ever been swimming?”

“Have I ever been swimming?” He scoffed. “Course I have.”

“I’d like to see that. Imagine you flipping around like a fish,” she giggled.”

“I’ll have you know I do not flop around like a fish, I look like an Olympic swimmer out there on the water.”

“You’ll have to show me.”

“Let’s go right now.”

“Where? The closest thing we have is the Manhattan River. It’s practically the backdrop for every sci-fi movie about mutant fish monsters.”

“What would you say to a proper first date up in the country?”

“Gangster’s whose tie is tied a little too tight say what?”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“Come and find out.”

She had seen a lot of impressive houses in her life but nothing like this; this was a cabin on steroids. The exterior made from real logs, towering over watch of a secluded lake in the upper mountains of New York in a place she could barely pronounce. This would be one she told stories about.

“You really think you can drive that Gray?”

He was waiting in the most summer outfit he would ever wear; a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and slacks. He was in a little rowboat owned by the property, holding his hand out for her to join, which she did reluctantly but the second their hands touched it was like fireworks.

She was in a new summer frock with her bathing suit underwear, sitting like a true southern belle at the haul of their mighty ship with a lacy parasol blocking out the sun.

“It can’t be that different from a car.”

“Watch where you go,” she said skeptically as the boat rocked back and forth. Her plans were sweating as she gripped the sides while the boat rocked. She’d never been so close to him. It was still hot in this part of New York too, watching the beads of sweat that appeared on his forward, watching closely as his veins seemed to ooo under the golden sun as he rowed them further from the dock.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think the city life is better suited to you.”

“Really? Hm, I’ll have to show you otherwise.” With a smirk he rowed harder, the boat moving faster until it all happened so fast and he lost balance and control of the ship. Before she even knew what had happened she was left along with the paddle as Michael was overboard, the small splash a real relief to her in the moment.

“Michael! Are you alright?” Concerned she checked over the haul and he seemed to be staying sing just fine.

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright, help me?” She couldn’t refuse those puppy dog eyes of his and offered a hand to help.

It was a blonde side.

Rather than helping him back into the ship he had a hand in killing her into the lake beside him, laughing  at her shocked reaction until she came up from the water, hands fighting against his chest.

“Michael Gray! You did that on purpose.”

His hands found home in the small of her back. “And so what if I did?”

“A lady should never go swimming with a man, it’s too risqué.”

“But you’re not a lady anymore, are you?” He pulled her close.

This is exactly what she had needed; relief. The cool water around her, his *hands* around her.

“And what if I said I wasn’t?”

“Then I would do this.” He kissed her quickly but deeply. So deeply it made the heat rise in her cheeks, starting at her core and slowly, slowly, climbing up. 

“I could spend every day at the lake with you Gray, if they’re like this.”

And just like that she liked lakes better than beaches, heatwaves better than continental days, and Michael more than her heart would admit.

Hope you like it! Leave comments please, they’d be really appreciated! A small ship and fic for the person who can correctly guess where the inspo for the first part of this came from!??!

Happy Easter y’all 🐣💐🐣

[khneltea]

No one told me we hit 100 followers. Oh my god. You guys- *cries*

Now for some pirate au daminette I mean what

This is actually gonna be my first fic?? I think. Like, full maribat fic in parts and everything (I hope I finish it)

The sea breeze was cold against her flushed cheeks, her eyes bright with mirth as she was spun around in circles by her Papa. Her Maman was sitting in the shade of the little cottage they had built near the rocks, right at the edge of their small town.

"Higher, Papa, higher!" Marinette's high-pitched voice squealed, her exuberance blatant on her face. No matter if she was three, or if she was seven, Marinette still loved it when her Papa spun her around on the beach.

Her Maman sighed tiredly, shaking her head in a good natured manner. Her Papa on the other hand, did the opposite of what she asked and brought her gently back onto the fine and soft sand. Her small lips formed into a childish pout, and she went dashing off into the small waves, soaking the bottom of her frock that matched her bluebell eyes. When she danced, it was like the sea celebrated with her. When she jumped to mimic the waves, they seemed to follow her instead. And when she laughed, the sapphire blue sparkled under the sunlight, incomparable with the duller ocean blue.

Chuckling, her Papa chased her into the sea, scooping her up yet again and bringing her back to shore. "Come on now, little cream puff, your Maman wants to tell you a story."

Her eyes sparkled, and she scrambled to the side of her mother. "I wanna hear the story of the Sea Lady again! Maman, tell me the story of the Sea Lady and her Kitty!"

"Haven't you heard that story about a hundred times now, my little fairy?" Her Maman was not one to make a fuss about retelling this particular one, but her daughter's reply was always so endearing.

"But it's my favourite! It's about Maman and Papa!"

"Not about Maman and Papa," her father gently said, "it is like Maman and Papa."

She frowned. "But you found Maman on the beach, and she made wonderful things?"

Her parents sighed as she stared at the with confused eyes. Their daughter and her thoughts. "Maman is not the goddess of the sea, and we are only bakers."

"But Maman is pretty enough, like Tikki! And Papa is super strong, just like Plagg!"

Tom and Sabine merely chuckled and ruffled her ebony hair.

The bell from the townsquare rang across the hills and cliffs, a faint ringing echoing through the wind. Tom and Sabine, startled, exchanged looks, both in fear, scooping up their little daughter and racing back into their little cottage. Marinette let out confused noises, what was all the fuss? They hurriedly got her water-logged blue dress and donned her in a more meek and well-treated one, a simple light grey frock that went all the way down to her mid-calves that she normally only wore to Sunday Church. Her hair, which was normally in childish pigtails, was put into a smooth plait and twisted up into a simple bun using one of her Maman's hairpin. She had barely slipped her best leather shoes on like her Maman had asked when her Papa picked her up in his arms, her Maman following alongside them.

"What's going on, Maman?" She whispered, her eyes finding her Maman's trembling ones. She didn't understand, why did her Maman and Papa look so afraid?

They had reached the town square where many of the town's residents were already gathered. As they took their place in the crowd, the body of mass shifted ever so slightly, creating a quarter meter distance further away from the family of three than any other group in the crowd. Whispers and murmurs were rampant, all speculating why the town bell had rung. Usually, it signalled the start and end of Sunday Church. The only other times it has rung has been when the town's mayor had to say something. Half the time, it was the normal precautions or reminders against breaking the law, as well as one or two pirate sightings near the coast, but in the past decade or so, there hasn't been a peep nor hair of a pirate near their shores.

A herald stood upon the rotting wooden stage hastily brought out. It was quite a sight to see, a proper meesenger with the fancy blue coat and the golden lapels, topped off with the pompous white wig, black stockings, and shiny heeled leather boots. He cleared his throat, unfurling a letter in his hands.

"Bear witness to this glorious day when Ambassador Bourgeois' daughter has chosen this poor village to offer up one of their own daughters to serve their honorable house as the young lady's personal handmaiden." His voice was condescending, mocking their lowly births and undecorated clothing. The sneer on his face was a fixture, blatantly obvious under his upturned nose. "Be honoured that the young mistress has deigned this insufferable hovel of a town suitable."

Her Papa's arms tightened around Marinette, and she stuck her arm out to her Maman, who clasped it tightly. She didn't fully understand some of the words that the strange man had mentioned, but she knew one thing: he could take her away from her Maman and Papa.

A little girl no more than a year older than her stepped up beside the herald, her back straight and her face hidden arrogantly beneath a black fan. Her golden day dress had been ruined from the trip over to this hole in the ground that her Daddy had told her he was sponsoring, and she wasn't feeling the nicest. Her blue eyes quickly swept over the small crowd of people, all the little girls ducking their heads behind their mother's skirts, shielding their faces from hers. The older ones stood slumped over on the side, trying to look their best in front of a prospective employer, maybe someone who could get them out of this town, but she dismissed them with a mere glance. She didn't need someone older than her to reprimand her and kiss up to the adults. She needed someone young, someone malleable, someone innocent and weak. Someone she could control with just the slightest raise of tone, who will bend with the tiniest lift of a finger given the proper training.

Her eyes stopped at the small girl huddled in her father's arms, tightly clutching onto her mother's fist. The difference between her and all those other girls were simple.

She looked Chloe straight in the eyes.

Chloe's blue eyes glinted in malice, and she loftily raised her gloved finger, pointing straight at the black haired girl. "I picked her."

.

.

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Thank you so much for reading!!!!!

Tag list is open!!!

———————————

[hazzabeeforlou]

DEC 1, 2021

Alright, so as some of you may know, for the past few years I’ve done an advent cal countdown to Christmas. Usually I review fics, or post micro one-shots, or whatever. I was really hoping to do another review BUT. I haven’t had time to read fic!! And then since you all sent me those lovely messages Sunday night I got sick (101.5 fever) and well. Don’t worry it’s not the virus, it’s a sinus cold. But it still sucks. ANYWAYS. So I’m just going to share with you little snips of my upcoming Christmas fic until I finally finish it and get it published! (SEND INSPIRATION AND HELP) So. Here’s the first little teensy bit :)

At ten years old, Harry knows that someday he wants a baby. Westbrook Baptist is putting on their annual Christmas pageant and though he’s supposed to be a sheep, Mrs. McIntyre needs someone Rachel’s size to try on the Mary costume because the main cast is rehearsing in the basement. She needs someone to just sit there and let her pin the headpiece in place and arrange the frock just right so it drapes nicely around the manger and down the altar steps in bunches of satin blue. And she needs someone to pick up the baby Jesus to see if the sleeves are the right length or if they’re too wide, because you can’t hide the infant redeemer.

But ten year old Harry, the pinned blue satin hems scratchy against his skin, isn’t really paying attention to Mrs. McIntyre’s mumbling. He’s looking down at the doll in his arms, a doll he’s being allowed to hold and cradle and gently rock against his heart.

Ten year old Harry has his awakening at the manger as bits of straw leave scratchy stamps under his knees. When he lays the doll back down in the hay, he tucks a bit of white swaddling around its plastic shoulders and—when Mrs. McIntyre isn’t looking—plants a gentle kiss on its forehead.

[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

[darkpoisonouslove]

First Line Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @foreveranevilregal​!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

These are from most to least recent (except the last two):

1. For her nonexistent cooking skills, Stella sure could pack a picnic basket with the speed of light. (Sunshine on Our Picnic)

2. “What did you want to show me?” Griffin’s golden eyes finally found her after she’d been gracing the translucent blue petals of a flower with their light for at least ten minutes now. (Shine a Light on Your Romance)

3. The sky was on fire – a last glorious blaze to promise the sun would be back tomorrow shiny and golden like her own eyes. (Rust on the Curtain)

4. Tugging on the charm bracelet around her wrist accomplishes nothing more than chafing where a thin sheen of sweat has formed on her skin thanks to the cursed thing. (Two Sides of the Same Drum)

5. Riven’s dorm is a mess, especially now that he’s not rooming with the nerd. (The Hand That Bleeds You)

6. His lungs burn in tact with his heels hitting the pavement. (Run for Your Words)

7. Broken. (Broken Eyes)

8. The flames rained on her ice shield – each like a rock melting away her magic instead of breaking through it. (Win a Heart)

9. Shaking is the only constant. (May Be)

10. Warmth tingled Sky’s fingers as Stella grabbed his hand. (Life of the Sunlight)

11. That was the day the full story got thrown down in the dark depths of the sirens’ minds for only them to remember it once heaven turned away from the two writing it and history never bothered to even learn their names. [This is the actual first sentence I wrote for that fic because the previous ones were taken from a prompt.] (Until Color)

12. Samara’s body begrudgingly stumbled after him in his misstep slipping into an unnatural disruption of her graceful and calculated movements. (New Warmth to Weave in Your Garden of Shine)

13. Erendor emerged from the walk-in closet to his bedchamber still swallowed in darkness that allowed almost no shadow to form behind Samara whose silhouette was just barely outlined in his private space by the meek moonlight finding its way into the room through the thick clouds suffocating the night sky. (Bring Home to Family)

14. Samara’s heart was racing faster than it had on the stage of every beauty pageant and modeling contest she’d ever competed in as if to compensate for the lack of rouge on her cheeks. (No Order Can Make the Heart Miss)

15. “If the ring isn’t returned, the Solarian court will issue an official demand to Cloud Tower for its retrieval.” (Left to Heritage)

16. [NSFW] Every movement of her writhing body accentuated the presence of the magical bonds around her wrists and ankles like powerful jewelry that held her to the bed and spread open. (Return to Need)

17. Darcy’s anxiousness peaked along with the rising urge in Valtor to blast every shelf around them to pieces. (The End of Never)

18. A pull in his body dragged him towards wakefulness in a harsh manner he would have protested against despite the fight he’d put up the previous night at Griffin’s insistence to give himself a rest. (The Inside of Your Frame)

19.  Her heartbeat punctuated each of her steps into her bedchamber.*

20. “Let go of me!” Marion twisted her wrist viciously but to no avail.**

*Unedited Griffin x Valtor Arranged Marriage AU

**Unedited Griffin x Marion Aladdin AU

To be fair, I expected more fics to start with dialogue but that is the result of me trying to actually have some kind of opening instead of throwing readers in the deep so good job me, I guess! What I can see in common here is that I tend to open with some kind of sensory detail when it isn’t a line of dialogue starting but even in those cases, the speaking is followed by sensory details. That is definitely something I hadn’t noticed. Kinda proud of it. Also, happy to see my return to shorter sentences. It was about damn time!

Tagging: @poisonerrose, @theonceoverthinker, @goblins-riddles-or-frocks, @bloomvalyria, @everythingpuddle if you want to do it.

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Four

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

After a slight delay caused by yesterday’s storm knocking out our power (and throwing the router offline for the rest of the day), Chapter 4 of this @cssns​ story ​ is finally ready!  In the last chapter, Killian was finally back on his feet (and slightly embarrassed) as he ventured out for the first time. Emma even invited him into the cavern for the first time where he found some new clothing amidst her collection of old maritime chests.  Things couldn’t be more perfect...

So now does anyone think that Killian might be getting a little bit suspicious that something weird is going on?  When we left off from Chapter 3, he thought he was imagining torches and lanterns lighting without being touched and then found himself puzzled when Emma warned him of a storm he saw no signs of. He’s treading a fine line between believing he’s just questioning and thinking he’s hallucinating - but those scales are about to be tipped and there will be no turning back.

Thanks again to my wonderful beta, @kmomof4​ for all of your assistance and also to @courtorderedcake​ for the beautiful watercolor art she made for this fic!  

Catch up from the beginning here: One  Two  Three  or on AO3 & FF.net

Magic Has a Price

Trusting in her instruction, Killian rushed back through the narrow passageways of the cavern, making his way to the springs where he could view the changes in the skies above through the void in the cave ceiling. Here, he could remain protected from nature's furies as he huddled beneath an overhang while keeping a watchful eye on the heavens. He expected to witness the sky darken as clouds rolled in and rain filtered through the natural skylight yet he saw nothing of the sort.

There was no thunder. No lightning. No gathering of dismal grey clouds to mar the brilliant blue above. Not a single drop of precipitation fell between the cracks in the rock, leaving him a tad bewildered. Why had Emma been so adamant that a storm was imminent? She hadn't joined him in the cave either, muttering something about the storm being here for her. What in blazes did that mean?

He'd intended to remain obediently inside the cavern, but his curiosity grew too great and won out. He needed to learn what the meaning of her cryptic statement was and what she may have been seeking to conceal from him. There clearly was no pending meteorological event as it had been unnervingly quiet. Something was amiss and despite Emma's warnings, he was determined to learn what was troubling her. He owed her that much.

**********

After delivering her stern order for Killian to return to the relative safety of the cavern, Emma mentally scolded herself for the sad excuse she'd given. She had wanted an explanation for not joining him, but instead, she'd likely implanted a seed of doubt. How foolish of her to state that the storm was coming for her, even if it was the truth. Nonetheless, she paused near the mouth of the cave until he was out of her sight then set her jaw, scowling as she marched to the beach. She hated that she hadn't been entirely truthful about the origin of the impending storm, but this was far too personal.

She should have known better. She'd become careless in her desire to shelter Killian as she'd grown rather fond of her human companion over the course of the past few days. As much as he'd soothed the bitter ache in her soul, her fondness had placed them both at risk. How would she explain herself? She had to think of something in a hurry, knowing who would be awaiting her in the shallows of the bay.

"Erimetha…," she heard the deep, familiar feminine voice call to her as the crown of perfectly coiffed dark hair broke the surface of the water. Emma already knew who the voice belonged to and it wasn't anyone she had a desire to see. "Or are you still calling yourself Emma these days?"

"As much as you prefer to call yourself Regina, sister," Emma replied as the olive-skinned torso of her sibling raised from the sea with a swish of her lithe, regal purple and gold hued tentacles. "Whatever brings you here to the dregs of our realm?"

"You appear to be doing well for yourself since your banishment, sister. I'm not certain what would possess you to wear that silly frock though. Are you trying to look like some pitiful human up there on the sand? Have you forgotten what it's like to thrive in the sea?"

"I was never banished. Need I remind you that it was my choice to leave?" Emma huffed, not willing to give in to her sister's taunts. "I had no desire to live that life anymore. This is my home now and I live how I please. If I choose to wear a silly frock like a human, then I shall. I've no one to answer to."

"Oh, that's right - the siren with a conscience bit," Regina said snidely. "The gods created you to sing and lure those horrible, unworthy creatures to their demise. That is who you are and you can't deny that."

"You're right, Regina, I cannot deny what I was created to be. However, I can choose not to be that demon any longer. I am sorry if that bothers you but I am no threat to you in your desire to please Triton."

"You sound so self-righteous," Regina scoffed, flicking a splash of water into the air with the tip of a tentacle. "You can't fight what you were born to be."

"We shall see. All I know is that you didn't swim all this way to berate me and call me self-righteous. Why are you here?"

"So impatient, little sister… Always so impatient… I'm here because we members of the council sensed a little magic ripple that originated from this pathetic little corner of the realm. You've not used your powers in eons so some were a little worried… These little things do travel, you know?"

"It was hardly anything for the council of sirens to worry themselves over. I merely had a desire to grow some new fruits and vegetables here and conjured up a few plants to expand my diet. I could have waited for seeds to blow in with the trade winds, but as you said, I'm impatient."

"Food? Of course…," Regina sneered. "Growing food like a lowly human when you could be feasting like a queen…"

"My choice," Emma reminded her.

"So be it," the brunette siren shrugged. "Just be warned that the council will be keeping watch on you."

"Whatever for? What does the council care about what I do? I have no interest in anything of that life!"

"Considering your sad development of a conscience, the council - myself included - expressed concern that you might show pity upon an unexpected survivor."

"Survivor?" Emma gulped, trying hard to conceal her surprise at Regina's statement. "What are you talking about?"

"A few sunrises ago, an unfortunate ship sailed into our waters. None were deemed worthy to pass and they succumbed to our song before the ship ran aground and sank not far from this cove. Since then, there has been scuttle amongst the sea creatures that one of those vile humans survived. It's highly unlikely, but you know how the council gets… Your weaknesses made you a concern - that you might attempt to rescue such an unfortunate being."

"Why is this such a bother to the council? The rule has always been that any human immune to our song would be allowed safe passage. No man can resist the song so there hasn't been a survivor in centuries."

"And that rule still stands but no human is worthy to pass through our realm. In all the ages, only one has ever been able to resist. They're simply inferior beings."

"But you know that the one human who was able to resist the song gained favor with Poseidon and united his kingdom with ours - even if only for a brief moment in time."

"Because the new leaders of the human's kingdom angered the gods again and their realm was reclaimed by the sea. They're all evil. Poseidon should allow us to reclaim all of the human realms!"

"He doesn't because he knows that there are good ones among them and I believe that as well. The siren's council controls only one realm and it should stay that way! I refused to send any more of those humans to their deaths."

"Well," Regina began with an indignant huff, "unlike you, I shall continue to defend our waters from those humans! I won't allow myself to grow weak with worry about morality or humanity!"

"Did you ever once consider that resisting our urge to tempt sailors is the strength, not the weakness?" Emma countered, ire increasing at her sister's callousness and disregard for her choice to exit the council of sirens.

"Whatever you want to believe, Emma," Regina dismissed her with disdain. "You are still a siren, no matter what you're trying to make yourself believe. It's who you are. The siren song is a part of you and perhaps one day you'll realize that. For now, remember this - if you are found to be harboring a human, the decision of what will become of you will no longer be up to the council. You'll be answering to the gods themselves."

"I have nothing to answer for," Emma stated, although she secretly hoped that she'd never be called upon to back up that statement. "Take care, sister."

Regina huffed and whipped her tentacles around before diving beneath the gentle waves and leaving Emma standing silently on the shore, staring blankly at the horizon. She trembled while repeatedly chastising herself for daring to use her powers. She had only wanted to provide for Killian, not endanger him. She hadn't envisioned that after so many years, her single use of magic would reverberate back to the council. Regina would undoubtedly return and she wouldn't be alone next time.

What could she do? Had she already done too much?

Killian couldn't immediately locate Emma when he emerged from the cavern but as his intuition had been correct and there was no storm, he was left mildly perturbed and greatly confounded by her deception. He ventured out to the ridge of ancient volcanic rock that separated the cave from the shoreline and stopped himself before crossing it.

Instead of the rumble of thunderstorms, he heard the sound of two distinct, aggravated voices. He recognized Emma's but there was a second, sultrier female voice present. Emma had insisted that the two of them were alone on this distant cove but unless he was hallucinating, he held no doubt that he was hearing another woman's voice - and by their tone, there were no pleasantries being exchanged.

He held back out of sight, fearful of being noticed and tried to discern what was transpiring. Did Emma get visitors regularly? Her often awkward interaction with him would certainly lead one to believe that she had little contact with others. Despite that, the tone of the exchange he was overhearing seemed to be decidedly personal. Emma knew the person on the other end of the conversation, but that wasn't going to help him.

Unfortunately for his prying ears, the two women were speaking in the same Ancient Greek dialect that he couldn't quite translate. He could pick out a few words here and there but nowhere near enough to get the context of the conversation. He surmised that the other woman's name was Regina and thought he understood Emma calling her sister.

He so desperately wanted to poke his head over the ridge line to see what was going on but he didn't dare risk angering Emma. Whomever she was speaking with, she hadn't wanted him to see - or perhaps be seen by. Why else would she have ordered him to dart back into the cavern under the false pretense of an impending storm? Was there a reason she wouldn't want her sister to know he was there, assuming this woman was actually her sister?

He shrank back to the opening of the cave as he sensed their conversation was waning. Although the stretch of beach where Emma and the mysterious Regina weren't in his purview, he could see out to another section of the cove where the turquoise sea met the azure sky, expecting to see the crown of a ship's mast out on the horizon. There was none. Where had this other woman come from? If she didn't arrive by ship, had Emma not been truthful about a village being nearby? He had so many questions but all were shook from his mind when he felt an unseen hand tighten around his forearm, yanking him forcefully into the darkness of the cavern depths.

"I thought I told you to go back to the spring?" Emma scolded him while he silently sighed in relief that it was her and not some angry, unknown stranger. Not that she wasn't angry…

"My apologies. My curiosity garnered the better of me when I sensed no sign of weather anomalies," he responded, unable to meet her gaze.

"The storm I spoke of was a tempest of a different sort," she sighed loudly as her voice softened. She maintained her clench on his arm until they reached the spring. "How much did you hear?"

Killian lowered his head in shame, found guilty of spying on this woman who had shown him nothing but kindness. Whatever fibs she may have told, she'd had her reasons and the exchange he had overheard hadn't been intended for his ears. "I couldn't make out much of what you were saying. I just heard you conversing with the other woman - Regina, was it? I thought I heard you call her sister, but no matter the relation, there seemed to be a great deal of tension between you. I am quite sorry. I should never have intruded…"

"Oh, Killian…," she began as she released her grip on his forearm, raising her hand to his chin and giving it a gentle push upward, forcing him to look directly at her. The glistening tears welling in her eyes only intensified the confusion present in his stare. She knew she couldn't harbor her secrets any longer…

"There is so much you don't know about me… Oh, where to start…? The other voice you heard did indeed belong to one of my sisters and the disagreement you overheard was due to her lack of understanding my choice to leave the life I was born into." She squeezed her eyes closed and allowed a single tear to roll over her cheekbone before continuing. "There's something that you need to know about me…"

"It has often been my experience that when a woman makes such a statement, the remainder of the conversation tends not to be pleasant…"

"If I am to protect you, you need to hear me out. What you're about to hear puts you in grave danger, but I can't hide it from you any longer."

"How does learning that you have sisters and that we aren't entirely alone here on this isle put me in such peril?"

"I do live alone here," she assured him, "at least I did until you arrived. I have not seen or heard from Regina in eons but she traveled a long way to confront me because I broke one of my own rules…" She lowered her chin, her blonde locks tumbling over her face to hide her own shame. "I used magic. I shouldn't have used my powers, but I did and somehow, the effect of that action reached all the way back to my homeland. Now Regina and the rest of the council are suspicious of me and they're watching. She will be back and she won't be alone so we have to be ready…"

Dumbfounded, Killian shook his head in disbelief, raking his fingers through his tousled hair as he struggled to make sense of this. He leaned back against one of the larger chests as a myriad of thoughts bombarded his overloaded brain.

"Be ready for what?" he queried, although it wasn't really the most pressing question he was thinking of. He found himself staring absentmindedly at the cavern floor, kicking up a bit of volcanic sand as he flexed his bare toes. He was almost afraid to ask the other questions but he had to. "And what do you mean you used magic?" He raised up his head to face her again, mesmerized by the way the flickering light of the torch illuminated her ivory skin. It almost made it appear to be glowing on its own as she stood there before him.

He wasn't prepared for her answer.

"Like all of my people, I was born with certain magical gifts… or curses, depending on how you view them," she explained as she shifted her sight away from him.

"Are you some sort of witch?" he asked, voice wavering.

"No, I'm not a witch, but your kind would likely consider me a similar monster…"

His brow furrowed at her words. How could Emma ever refer to herself as such? "You're hardly a monster."

"Killian, you've not yet scratched the surface of what I am." Without looking at him, she extended a hand in his direction. "Come with me over to the spring…" He may have been wary of the gesture, but he placed his hand into her open palm and allowed her to lead him to the edge of the hot spring. She could hear his breath hitch in his throat as she let go of his fingers and descended the carved steps into the pool, raising her flowing gown over her head and tossing it aside.

Ever the gentleman, Killian's cheeks instantly flushed bright red as he averted his gaze from her nudity. "Emma, love… this isn't exactly proper…"

"Don't be ashamed of my nakedness. You needn't look away - I want you to see my true form." He heard a faint splash over the thundering of his own heartbeat as she lowered herself into the spring. "Killian - look at me," she insisted, but he was still unsure.

"Is this why you're purported to be a monster?" he wondered. "Some sort of wanton nymph here to tempt me into lascivious behavior?" He heard Emma chuckle before he dared glance over to the pool, finding her lounging against the steps with her arms extended at her sides (although she was submerged from her bosom down).

"You're not far off with your mention of a nymph, but you have the wrong creature," she stated as she playfully kicked a bare foot into the air, showering him with a pattering of warm water.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand…," he blushed, resisting the carnal urge to jump into the steamy spring with her. Part of his psyche was holding him back, unconsciously telling him that despite her friendly teasing, he wasn't going to like what she was about to say. And now, he was frozen in trepidation.

"I'm not human," she said bluntly, drawing her leg beneath the water's surface once more. Before he could even attempt to process that confession, a shimmering tail fin raised up out of the spring. "I am a shape-shifting sea being that you know as a siren."

His jaw fell slack, mouth gaping as his gaze fell upon the sparkling green, gold and turquoise hues reflecting from the minute scales adorning her tail. Her tail. It was an awe-inspiring wonder as he took in the sight of the head and torso of the woman he'd come to admire over the past few days paired with the shiny, scaly tail of a fish.

This couldn't be. He must be delirious…

"No…, no…" he stammered. "This cannot be…" He staggered backwards, away from the spring, senses and sensibility overwhelmed.

"Killian, I promise - I can explain!" She pleaded with him, dejected by the panic in his eyes as he stumbled away from her. "Please, let me explain…"

He couldn't form a response, but he couldn't look away from her either. He continued his hasty retreat with eyes still locked on her unbelievable form, but he'd momentarily forgotten that he was still inside a cave. As he neared the four chests, he lost his footing in the uneven, loose sand. With nothing near him to reach for, he fell, arms pinwheeling awkwardly in a desperate attempt to stop himself. His head collided with a protruding slab of rock as he struck the wall and he dropped motionless beside the still-open chest where he'd found his new clothing.

"Killian!" she cried, rapidly transforming back to her human legs as she splashed her way out of the pool and hurried to his side. She knelt beside his unresponsive body, drawing her fingertips over the prickly stubble along his jaw. "Oh no… What have I done?"

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

I see your unhinged!morallychaotic!Kuro idea and I raise you a Kuro who just let Inner!Kuro/BlackCat takeover.

Hey! Sorry it took me SO long to answer this! But you got me thinking lol

I played around with an appearance change, like what about incorporeal horns?? Just kinda misty and tranluscent. Maybe some two tone hair..... but personality had me the most hung up. Blackcat seems SO different from Kuro on a basic level that I’m not sure how his personality would change. I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are some quick sketches and a little fic that I wrote trying to work out what I thought the changes would be!

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The man across the plaza had caught and held Mahiru's attention for a while now. 

"Hey! What did you want to drink?" The attendant running the punch stall asked exasperatedly. 

"Anything's fine." Mahiru shot back, his eyes still trained on the shocking black and white hair gleaming sullenly in the wavering spotlights. "Tea?"

The server muttered something and in just a second was shoving a glass into Mahiru's hand and waving him off, signaling the next person to approach.

His long island in hand, Mahiru shuffled sideways, hoping to keep the mysterious man in view. He hadn't moved for several minutes now but the streets were crowded, just as they always were on Halloween and Mahiru was no fool- one could disappear in the span of a breath to never be found again. He had no plans, no real desire to talk to him, but something about the way the man stood was like a shout; Mahiru had heard it and couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he had been meant to.

"I just want to know if that's a wig." He muttered, trying desperately to convince himself. The man's hair, long and choppy, was stupefying. Black on one side and a stark blue white on the other. There was no way it was real but the fade in the color looked so natural compared to many of the other two tone wigs Mahiru had seen that night that he couldn't be sure it hadn't been a hundred dollar dye job. "What kind of person spends that much money on a costume?"

He glanced down at his own clothing; a simple frock, tied with a sash, black satin pants, and knee high boots. His cape clasped securely around his shoulders, and a jaunty wide brimmed pointed hat was perched crookedly on his head. It may not be flashy but he was sure there was no doubt to be had about what he was.

Looking back up, he felt his heart drop when he found that the man had indeed slipped away into the crowd. Trying not to frown and wondering just what exactly was wrong with him, he started violently when a lilting voice trickled over his shoulder.

"Looking for me?"

He jerked around, sloshing a portion of his drink down his hand, to find himself face to face with the very man he had been casually stalking for the last ten minutes. "How did you-" He faltered, his eyes darting back to where the man had been before, a good hundred feet away. It hadn't been more than three seconds between when he'd looked down and back up. How in the world had he managed to navigate the crowds and cross the plaza in such a short amount of time?

"You were, weren't you?" The man asked excitedly, leaning farther forward, his eyes wide in pleasure. "I can tell."

"W-w-what are you-"

"Don't worry about details! That's not important!" He raised a hand, curling his fingers seductively around the air just next to Mahiru's cheek. "I have what you're looking for."

"I'm not looking for anything!" Mahiru burst out. "I have no idea what you're talking about! I just wanted to know if that was a wig."

The man's brows raised in shock and he darted a look up to the fringes of hair that tickled the bridge of his nose. "It's not a wig."

"Hah!" Mahiru pointed a finger at him. "I knew it!"

"Did you now?" He purred, tilting his head, heavy gaze traveling down Mahiru's neck and to the line of his shirt. "Aren't you a smart one? Then let's keep the games going, shall we?" As quick as a shot, he reached out and traced one cool, long finger across Mahiru's collar bone and grinned. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Mahiru asked blankly, trying to take a subtle step back. The finger still planted on his neck was distracting and numbing, as though a current were running through it. "I'm me."

The man leaned back in surprise, brows drawn up. "You're you?" He repeated hesitantly. "What kind of an answer is that? You were supposed to tell me your name."

"Well it was kind of a dumb question." Mahiru said jokingly, glancing around for an exit, willing this strange, annoying conversation to be over. "I mean, the answer is simple."

"I don't know the answer."

Mahiru turned back just a fraction, his drink and escape both forgotten as he stared into the wide and unsure lightning blue eyes staring right back at him. He could see his reflection, slightly distorted and washed of color by the storm of sky within the irises, and somewhere in his subconscious registered that he was looking rather disheveled and short.

"How do I find the answer?" The man asked, almost desperately, leaning forward and making to grab Mahiru's shoulders.

"How should I know?" He asked quickly, startled and more than a little worried. This man was turning out to be more complicated than he had expected; but the soft, vulnerable confusion rolling from the stranger in overpowering waves staid him and he sighed. "Why don't you list some of your interests and hobbies? Start from there. Then maybe your favorite places and people. Build your life around your relationships and experiences. That-" He broke off as the man darted forward, wrapping him in a hug so tight he heard a rib creak.

"That's exactly it! That's what I'll do! My hobbies, you say?" His eyes narrowed calculatingly and he grinned, a slow, feral thing. "I'll show you them right now~"

Before Mahiru could capture the breath to ask what the hell he was talking about, the man had released him and stepped back, glancing curiously around, as though looking for a particular vendor stall. His eyes lit upon the fireworks seller and his grin widened, taking on a kind of manic joy.

"Perfect."

"What-"

The man pressed a finger to his lips, his smile softening around the edges just so. "No, no. Don't worry about it. You'll see!" He took a quick step away but hesitated, struck by a thought. "My name. I can tell you that, at least. Kuro. I like you." The smile brightened for the barest moment and he pressed those twisted, smooth lips to Mahiru's cheek for the briefest second. "Mahiru~ Yes, I think I might like you."

Too late, Mahiru jerked back, unsure whether to be more upset by the abrupt kiss or the fact that this strange man somehow knew his name. He was sure he had never mentioned it, always painfully aware of what his uncle had drilled into his head on 'stranger danger'. "How did you-"

"I said no questions!" The man barked before frowning and turning away. "Stay there." And with that he darted off, through the crowds, winding like a snake through reeds.

For some reason Mahiru found himself staying where he was, curious to see what this strange person- Kuro, his brain supplied belatedly- was going to do. He couldn't delude himself into thinking he was being flirted with, despite the forward approach that Kuro had, it just didn't seem possible. And he was undoubtedly foreign, of European descent most likely, given the long hair and bright, clear eyes, so it must just be a cultural difference. Comforted by his conclusions, Mahiru leaned back, crossing his ankles and waited.

The wait was short.

Across the busy road a sudden explosion rocked the air, it's fires spreading from the fireworks stall and outward like a hot flower opening its petals to the night sky. Screams and calls further disturbed the fragile atmosphere and it was several seconds before Mahiru registered that he was on the ground, almost unconscious and bleeding from more places than seemed safe. Trying to raise up on his hands, to get a look around, to see if he could help, his vision blurred and wavered. Dizzy and faintly nauseated, he slumped back down, his cheek pressing into the gritty cement of the walk. The sharp pricks of rocks brought a little feeling back into his numb face and he drew a deep breath. A shadow pressed in on him and he glanced up, relief and panic fighting for equal purchase, but both quelled and fell back, buffeted by his surprise.

Above him, smiling sunnily, stood Kuro, unmarked but for a dash of soot across his forehead. "Pretty good right?"

Mahiru worked his jaw, struggling valiantly to summon some form of response, willing his sudden rage, for he now had a very clear image of what had happened, to give him strength. "Did you do this?!" He exclaimed, squinting up. 

"Of course I did!" Kuro looked confused and squatted down, bringing him almost level with Mahiru who was still floundering on the ground. "You told me to start with my hobbies!"

"I- I-" Mahiru cut off, winded by both his bruised and bleeding lungs and his immense disbelief. "This isn't a hobby! Did anyone get hurt?!"

"You did." Kuro pointed out neutrally.

"Of course I did!" Mahiru yelled. "You blew up the fireworks stall!"

For the first time Kuro looked slightly angry, his lips tilted in displeasure, and he leaned farther down, closer, until the curtain of his unnatural hair was blanketing Mahiru's face. "For you."

“For me?” Clarity was returning to his mind in short bursts and jagged leaps and he slowly, slowly pushed himself up, wincing when his wrist flared a warning. “I never asked you to.”

“Do you need to?” Kuro asked worriedly, biting his lip, eyes darting around in an almost panic. “I didn’t know that. I just thought-”

“You’re insane, aren’t you?” Mahiru muttered, at this point numb to any real fear. “Or is this some elaborate Halloween prank?” He glanced around, hoping without any real hope, to see Koyuki or Sakuya lurking in the outskirts of the pandemonium and laughing at his folly. "Please tell me that Ryusei put you up to this."

"Who is that?" Kuro glared down at him, leaning still closer, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a quiet kind of anger. "Is he your 'friend'?"

Mahiru paused, watching Kuro grow ever more irritated, and contemplated the way he had stumbled over the word friend. It had rolled and fallen from his lips as though it were a foreign concept, something he had only read about and never actually seen in person. "Yes. He is." He said it more as a taunt than anything else, just to see if it would incense Kuro any more than he already was, and was not disappointed; Kuro's nose wrinkled and he bared what Mahiru, from this distance, could see without a doubt, despite a complete lack of belief in the superstitious, were real fangs.

"I'll kill him."

Surrealism floated down like a gentle mist, coating his tingling limbs and swirling thoughts, and Mahiru rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby. What did Ryusei ever do to you?"

The question gave Kuro pause and he cocked his head, studying Mahiru intently. "He met you first."

"And?"

"And?"

"So have a lot of people. Are you going to go around killing anyone who's ever said hi to me?"

Kuro opened his mouth, no doubt to confirm the sarcastic, rhetoric question but closed it again at the look Mahiru threw him.

"Please. That's unrealistic. And extremely inappropriate." He added as an afterthought.

"Inappropriate...." Kuro echoed, looking shell shocked. "I didn't know."

Mahiru raised a brow in blatant disbelief, flinching back when Kuro suddenly reached out and scooped him up into his arms. "Wha-!"

"You'll have to explain exactly what is 'appropriate' then!" He continued excitedly. "I don't particularly like being wrong but I suppose if it's what you want, I'll do it. You seem like the tiresome kind of guy who won't accept anything but adherence to your own strict set of morals."

"Do- do what?" Mahiru stuttered distractedly, eyes focused on the ground which was steadily flashing by as Kuro dashed off through the bustling plaza, ignoring the panicked gasps of the emergency workers and few still lingering civilians, cradling Mahiru as though he were but a sack of flower and feather light. "Please just-"

Kuro grinned down at him, seemingly unaware of the terror that was racing up and down Mahiru's spine at the speed and sudden kidnapping. "Be appropriate." He enunciated stiffly. "I'll try." His eyes danced, happy and bright, and buoyed by a depth less madness.

"Oh god." 

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pictured: a transition of destructive mischief 

[johns-prince]

Do you still do fic requests? If you do, I'd like to request for a starrison fem Ringo.

Not even the bluest ocean waters could rival the blue that colored Rachel's eyes. It was a daft thought, George feeling cliche and soppy. But, it's true, even if it's bad poetry, it's true.

"You've the bluest eyes I've ever seen," George says, a slip of the tongue. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there it is. Those big blue, soppy cow eyes have turned towards him, the softest curve of a smile, and a light dusting of pink across her visage.

Swallowing thickly, Adams apple bobbing visibly, George could feel the heat crawling up his neck, to his face, the tips of his ears. Had she heard? Must've, even if the dancehall is crazy with youth and music their parents can't hardly understand, thrumming all around. Because she's looking at him, and smiling so sweetly, and--

"You've been staring then, Georgie?" Comes from one of the lads at the table, which earns a bit of jeering from the others, and George telling them all to piss off. Try to play it off as amusing, though, it hit closer to the truth then George would like to admit yet.

They were just, mates, he and Rachel had gotten close when she, John, Paula would go out after their shows, still strummed out on prellies and cheap alcohol (they figured the drummer was a boy at first, on account of being called Ringo by her previous bandmates and by those who'd introduce the band up) When Pete went off on his own, they got close to Rory Storm and his Hurricanes. Long story short, that's how he'd ended up knowing this pretty little thing before him, nicknamed Ringo ("See, got all these rings on me hand," she'd laughed, then, with a roll of her watery blue eyes, added, "And, just makes it easier gettin' shows, if they think the whole band is just lads, y'know?") And in which in the last few months, he's had no better luck ridding of these desires for her.

George didn't even realize he'd been off, lost in his thoughts, until he feels a small hand on his arm, giving him a little shake. Blinking out of it, he found himself gazing back at Rachel, those great big blue eyes of hers. "Sorry, what?" Cleared his throat, moving to the point her hand slipped off his arm.

"Let's dance, yeah?" She asks, again, smiling hopefully. At first George just, blinked stupidly at her, and could already feel himself growing painfully shy. Why was she asking him? A kid. He hated it but, that's what he was to her, wasn't he? Being three years older, she's practically a woman, while he's still considered an adolescent delinquent. And sure, maybe he'd gained a bit more confidence in himself when he came back from Hamburg (involuntarily), losing his virginity with an older woman. But, there's a difference between bedding older, working girls for a quick buck and a half, and seriously wanting to pursue an older bird, a classy girl, because you've stupidly developed feelings for her.

But, then you have another boy at the table, older then George, who's leaning over and offering himself as her dance partner, if George isn't up for it. Up for it? Why wouldn't I be up for it--

So, he acts, nearly jumping as he straightens up in his chair, accepting readily, "Right, I'll go for a twist with ya, lass."

Tries to ignore how seeing her face light up, and how eager she is, gets his stomach to do funny little summersaults. Or how his heart feels like it's going to leap out of his chest when she grabs his hand, pulling him towards the dance floor once he's up and standing himself.

A pretty little frock, dark in color, with her lovely hands all adorned in rings. Warm brown hair, framing her pale face, pinned and curled and styled for a night at the local dancehall. She's a dream.

At first, it was a bad dream edging on nightmare. He felt so goddamn high-strung, why? It's just Rachel for Godsake.

But that's just it, it's Rachel. Rachel, who only seemed to have the utmost patience for George as he worked through his nerves on the floor. Nearly stepping on her foot-- he was about to call it in. But the blue eyed sweetheart grabbed him, pulled him back, and smiling at him. "Don't go, you're doing fine." She sounded so honest, George really wanted to believe her. "Really," she said, softer, having to lean in a bit closer for him to catch it. Finds himself leaner down closer, too. "Long as you don't end up on the floor like Rory did, that one night, alright?"

A pause as he took it in, remembering that night in which someone took a photo of them, Paula was there... Holding someone's foot. Just their foot. Turned out to be Rory's. He'd been so pissed, the poor sod ended up on the filthy floor and simply hadn't in him to get back up for the picture, so, just his foot made it.

And then he was laughing, snickering, and soon enough so was Rachel. Alright, okay-- he can do this. "I suppose I can keep makin' an arse out of myself," George sighs, and Rachel gives him a playful little tut of sympathy. Poor lad. "But, just for you, a'right?" That seemed to catch her attention, almost off guard. He could feel himself wanting to clam up again, with her looking at him like that, so, boldly, grabbing for her hands, and saying loud over the music, the sound of moving bodies around them; "Here Ringo, let's dance."

He was still a bit rigid, making slip ups here and there, but as he made himself focus on the music, the beat, and the natural inclination for his eyes to find hers, soon enough, it wasn't so difficult anymore. Rachel clearly had a better knack for dancing than George, but he wasn't so bad, was able to keep up as they swung each other around, he spun her, her shimmying down then springing up, skirt whirling up and out and, and she looked amazing. The two simply riding off the waves of music and life around them. Laughing, laughing so much, smiling so hard, their cheeks started hurting.

No matter their hands would get damp and sweaty, or that Rachel ended up having to discard her shoes to continue dancing comfortably (made her even shorter), George having to toss his coat off. Neither caring that there was perspiration making strands of her stick to their foreheads, hairdos slowly coming undone, imperfect.

Must've danced through three songs, and at the end of the third the two leaned into each other's sides, moreso Rachel into George's. Him impulsively just, throwing his arm over her shoulders. They giggled and laughed through their panting, George pushing his ruined quiff back, and Rachel trying to fix a couple pins threatening to slip loose, brushing back loose strands behind her ears.

And then George realizes, and it's like his heart skipped a beat. She was so close, pressed firm against his side, such a warm presence through his shirt. His arm felt far too heavy back and around her shoulders but, she didn't seem to mind a pinch. She seemed rather content, natural, letting out a huff as she used her hand to fan herself. George wasn't sure what to really do.

And then a slower sort of song started up, and his breath hitched. A song for couples, for lovebirds that want their beau's to hold them and caress them, act as if their entire goal wasn't to just cop a feel or get a heated makeout later. Bit cynical, eh?

He was pulling away as he started, "Let's go back--" but as he slipped away, turned to head back, his arm was caught. Rachel had his arm, his wrist with both her hands. Half turned, glancing to those hands, then at Rachel, the look on her face had him curious.

She looked timid, and even in the low, smoky light, he could see that her face was tinted with a flush. Lower lip that she'd had caught between her teeth, slipping free as she spoke, no need to be so loud with such a softer song playing. "One more," a gentle tug was given to his arm, made him sway subtly, and finally turn fully to face her. Releasing his arm, she continued, "One more dance, okay?"

Those blue, blue eyes, did she even realize how deep they could penetrate someone? They looked so hopeful, it twisted his heart like someone would twist his arm. Those eyes were just for him.

"...Okay," George replied, with a soft upturn of his thin lips. Delight, those eyes gleamed, a soft smile breaking that shy, uncertain expression. Carefully, she found herself in his embrace, arms around his neck, and his around her petite little waist. Her head, resting against his chest, above his heart. She could probably hear it fluttering like a wild bird in a cage. Slowly, they rocked and swayed together.

One more dance, but, just for you.