#man i drew this a year ago!!!! finally finished it!!!!

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

I've been seeing some articles online about how now would be the perfect time to revive NBC Hannibal because Bryan apparently has ideas and Mads wants to finish the story and also we're coming up on the 10th anniversary of The Wrath of the Lamb in 2025, but how, because of the time between seasons, they'd most likely have to do a time skip in the show.

And I just have to say that I love that idea and I think that's how season 4 could thrive if it happened. Because the fandom has had nearly 9 years to think about and create their own post-fall headcanons, and there are bound to be people who maybe made art and fics and are in love with their post-fall idea and the show wouldn't turn out the way they wrote it in their fic or drew in their art and they'll be upset.

But what about 5-10 years after the fall? I don't know about y'all but I don't see a lot of fan works about that. And I think it'd be interesting to see what the NBC Hannibal team would do with a Will and Hannibal who are fully realized as murder partners, if not murder husbands.

If I could throw out an idea for what I think would be a funny way to show us Hannibal and Will in a timeskip season 4:

~~~~~

We're getting a moving view through their house in Cuba. It's dark outside and dark in the house, too. We can hear the sounds of Will and Hannibal somewhere else in the house, grunting and breathing heavily.

Will pants out, "Move faster."

"Patience Will. I'm not as young as I used to be."

A laugh escapes Will and he grunts again, "You didn't seem to have much trouble thirty minutes ago."

"That was thirty minutes ago. This is now. Perhaps if you're so spry then you don't need my assistance finishing this." Hannibal remarks.

There's a loud thud. "Hannibal!" Will accuses, although he sounds more annoyed than angry.

The camera finally pans to a hallway in the house where we see Will carrying a dead man by his underarms and his lower half is dropped unceremoniously at Hannibal's feet.

Will sighs and looks at Hannibal. "Will you help me with the cuts? Please."

The corners of Hannibal's lips turn up. He's never been able to deny Will when he uses that word. He bends down with another quiet grunt and picks up the corpse by its feet, and the two of them move into a room at the end of the hallway and shut the door.

~~~~~

[littlelambscandyland]

Bunker Down

Yan!Platonic Daddy Stanford x Fem!Reader, Side Yan!Platonic Uncle Stanley x Fem!Reader

Warnings- Forced Age Regression, Kidnapping, Use of Daddy (Non-Sexual Obviously), Accidental Self Injury, Time shit I don’t understand, Implied spell casting induced age regression, Reader is implied to be 20,  Ford has blue eyes cause I fucking said so, not matching to the canon ending

Your eyes burned from your sleep. The bones in your body sore and unmoving. You were content on letting yourself rest, allowing yourself some form of recuperating. Want and need were two different things, however, and you found yourself crawling from your covers. With Dipper and Mable leaving just a week ago things are still struggling to get back on track.

Something caught your eye, or rather your feet, when you left your bed. The floor was oddly soft. Now that you think about it, so was the bed. The bed that most certainly wasn’t yours in a room that also was definitely not yours. Your eyes still burn, but your curiosity burns harder.

You stand up with caution and exhaustion. The door was easy to spot among the slightly bright room. It reminded you of the room you saw taped in the back of the first journal, but that couldn’t be the same room. No, that room was your nursery. The room Ford built just for you after your sudden appearance in his life. It did look like it though. Different yet the same.

A part of this situation made you sad. The remembrance of loss and odd deja vu feeling of the room decor made you uneasy. Not the best way to start the day for sure.

Your hand clasped the golden handle and immediately turning it, or trying to. The door knob didn’t turn. The door barely even shuddered when you panicked and slammed yourself against it. It was a chilling realization when you figured out the door wasn’t actually wooden, just painted. You found out when the cold metal dislocated your arm from the pressure.

Your cries of pain stirred something up because a red light blinked above the door lit up and washed over you. Nothing happens. Nothing comes to stop you from angrily banging on the door.

It lasted a while. Sitting on your knees scratching at it with wavering hope. You were tired, but it felt like it’d been so long.

Finally the door opened. Frantically your father, Ford, entered the room. For an old man he moved quickly. All those years running must’ve made him tough if nothing else. He threw you in his arms and rushed you back over to the bed while muttering to himself. He sat with you looking over your damaged arm and hands.

“F-Ford…” You called out to him wearily.

You’d never called him your dad. Not since he’d come back. Not since being alone for so long. You couldn’t bring yourself to rely on him. You couldn’t be his daughter, not when he doesn’t even seem to feel that you are either.

“Dad.” He says searching a bag full of bandages.

You take it back, maybe he did think you were his kid.

“Wha- Just what’s happening?” Your voice rang through the quiet room.

Ford stopped searching and the scuffling noises ended. He didn’t answer. Instead, he works on your hands. Torn flesh wrapped delicately in the bandages. Did you really scratch that hard?

You look up impatiently. “Ford-”

“Dad.” Ford says, wrapping the bandage tighter than needed.

“Fine- Fucking- Dad. What is going on?” You asked anxiously.

“It’s-” He stops. “Hold on one second this is going to hurt.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist and then places his other on the crook between your arm and neck. Ford tightens his hold slightly and pushes hard on your arm. A gasp and a scream leave your mouth as he pops your arm back into its proper place. He pulls you closer into himself and pets your head.

“C’mon, sweetie, it’s okay.” He coos at you. “Shhh-shhh… Daddy’s here.”

As the pain faded he continued to work on wrapping your arm.

“You didn’t answer my question…” You drew out.

“It’s complicated to explain.” Your father answers, finishing your arm. “Overall…” He trails. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I missed so much and, and so did you.”

“So… Your solution was a concealed box?” You ask.

You couldn’t quite wrap your mind around what he was trying to prove. Why were you locked in? If this was to keep you safe why not lock things out? Your curiosity showed on your face. The slight shake in your hands giving way to your fear.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up so early… Or try to tear the door down. You can’t go acting all crazy like that, kiddo. Why do you think you’re hurt?” Ford says concern lining his scarred face.

“That doesn’t- Why aren’t you answering my questions!?” Your panic voice breaks through.

“I know! I know. I’m just trying to save you…” He sighs and grabs your arms lightly. Ford frowns as you try to pull away. “I just want to have my baby girl back… I think we both deserve that. Don’t you a princess?” He asks hopefully.

It makes sense, a bit, why he’d do this. Bill had thrown you threw a portal at such a young age. This portal threw you years in time. You grew up alone in a completely different time. You made it to your teenage years without anyone. You did it! And you were so proud of yourself. Then again you missed out on being a kid. You missed your father. You missed everything, but, then again, so did he.

These thoughts didn’t shadow your panic. All this made sense, in a way. The man's mind was most likely fractured from all he’s suffered through the years. What you didn’t understand was the nicknames, or the room, or, now that you’ve noticed, the clothes.

His mind may be broken, but how old did he think you were? How old did he want you to be?

You sighed. “Ford…”

“Dad.” He cut you off quickly. A panicked laugh followed after. “I’m your father. I should be treated like your father.” His words rush out.

“Okay, I get it. But you still aren’t really explaining anything to me! Like the clothes, the room, fuck, the-the door? What exactly are you hoping to gain and what exactly is the plan here?” You integrate the man.

Ford lifts you into his arms with ease. Your tense body seemingly makes no difference to him. Your face to face with him, his broken frames shadow some of the intensity in his eyes. Blue eyes darkened by age and trauma. Your heart pounds dangerously hard against your ribs. Eyes wide and panicked matching his tired and manic orbs.

Ford rests his head against yours, but doesn’t close his eyes. His intense gaze frightens you and you close yours tightly to avoid his own.

His voice comes out thick and heavy. “I know… It seems radical. I know, you’re scared.” Your father says, moving away, cupping your face in his large hands. “I just want us to be happy again,” He whispers desperately. “Is it that bad to want to see my baby grow up?” His voice breaks. “I know, I know it seems odd right now, but you’ll get used to it! You can be daddy’s little girl again! Wouldn’t that be nice? No more worries just you, me, and occasionally your Uncle Stan.” He finishes with a smile filled with hope and delusion.

“I think,” You say, trying to pull away. “You need to take some time to- to calm down… Everything that’s happened and after all that occurred Dipper and Mable had to go home. I get it your- your stressed, but I really don’t think you’re thinking straight. Y- Y’know?” You plead to him.

Ford says nothing. His grip tightens every time you try to wriggle out. You’d never felt afraid of him until now. The lack of natural light, the decoration, the words from his lips, all have you in a state of fear you've never experienced before. Which was saying something because you’ve been through some stuff.

His eyes harden and he’s suddenly standing with you in his arms. Ford walks out of the room and up a set of stairs. Were- were you in the basement? Surprising you a bit when you made it to the door at the top of the stairs you weren’t met with the inside of the shack rather you found yourselves in the hall between the two mens’ rooms. Confusion crosses your face.

“We added a separate entrance so it’d be more safe. On top of that it’s more discrete.” Ford smiles pridefully.

You try to leave the older man's grip again, hoping maybe you could find some comfort in being a few steps away from him. This hope dies quickly when he simply switches you to his other hip. How the hell is his 70 year old ass able to hold you for so long? Your fear boils over to anger as you try to push yourself out of his arms.

“Ford! Ford put me down!” You shout pushing as much as he pulled.

He wrestled with you all the way to the living room. His grip was tight enough to carry you even while you tried to fight.

“That is enough young lady!” He shouts and plops you down onto… Another lap? “I’ve had enough of this little tantrum. Now you're going to sit there and be good for Stan while I get you breakfast. Am I understood?”

Your heart stopped. Not even when you were little did he yell at you. You were always his “little angel”. You never got in trouble. It was startling to hear him angry at you.

“Don’t think you answered your old man there sweetheart.” Stan chimed in.

Realization hit you for a moment. Your father threw you straight onto your uncle's lap… And your uncle seemed completely fine with what was going on… Are you going crazy?

“Why- I - uh - I…” You trailed on in a stuttering line.

“C’mon I know you’re young, but spit it out will ya.” Stan says with faux irritation.

“What- What is wrong with the two of you?!” You shout in frustration.

You try your best to scramble off of Stan's lap. A fight you lost very quickly when the old man crushed you into a bear hug. Through your pleas of “let me go” and “why are you doing this” you were cooed and hushed at. You found that your uncle seemed to find some sort of humor in your “tantrum”. He shouted jokes to Ford about how much more difficult you were being all because of a little change. How you were so pitiful it was cute.

Your movements came to a halt when you heard your father clearing his throat. Stan makes another joke about how you’re really in trouble now. Your eyes water quickly and your breathing becomes erratic. Before Ford could even scold you for you “bad behavior” you were having a full blown panic attack.

The whole thing happened in a blur. Warm arms and a faint glowing light. You felt so much smaller so quickly. It’s like the world changed course. You were so angry and now you felt so much more dependent.

“Please… Daddy, I don- I don’t understan…” You sniffle out onto his shoulder.

Your arms wrap around him as tightly as his wrap around you. Your head felt so much fuzzier.

“Told ya’ this would be faster poindexter, then again didn’t think ya had it in ya’.” Stan says proudly from his chair.

You peek over your daddy's shoulder… What’d he mean by that? Aside from the fogginess you felt fine. What’d they do?

“It’s just till she gets used to things…” Ford says while rubbing his hands over your back.

“Sure it is,” Stan says. “Anything to get your little angel back huh?”

Your father rests his head on yours. “I already have her, she just needed a little help.”

[nuhuhwinniethepooh]

Fault

Anon : The kinda scenario that played out in my head right before I went to sleep, sacrifices were made (R.I.P my sleep sched) but I needed to write this down before I forgot about it (Reader has it hard here).

__________________________________________________

Maybe turning your back to Jujutsu Tech and the consequences it held didn't cross your mind. Maybe leaving Satoru behind for Suguru wasn't the best of ideas, not your best ones so to say. Maybe your promise of never abandoning Satoru wasn't the first thing that came to mind when you made your decision, ultimately breaking it and oh how you regret it. How you regret your past decisions. You should've stayed, you should've never left. You should've never left him, regrets slowly fill your head because now, he's finally caught you.

It's the only thought ringing in your head as the panic rises in your throat despite the pain coursing through you. "You should've stayed with him" "You should've never followed Suguru" "WHY DID YOU LEAVE HIM?"

Pain shoots up your abdomen, boot digging harder into your stomach when you pathetically try to push it away, looking up at the ethereal man looking down at you with hatred burning in his cerulean eyes. Oh you could drown in it without a single complain, you grimace when you feel his heel dig deeper, pinning you down. A testament. Don't try anything.

"You look good beneath my feet perhaps you've finally found your place after all that wandering you've done" he smiles. A smile so cold that it sends shivers down your spine despite the hot summer heat. "Satoru, it's good to see you too" you manage out weakly as you struggle to breathe, grabbing onto his ankle. You're not pushing at it like before lest you anger him more but you hold it even so, your last inkling of dignity depended on it.

"Don't. Don't call me that, you don't have the right. Not anymore" Satoru states coldly, he's not digging his boot down on you like before but he holds it there, enough to feel and just enough to hurt. "Did you also tell that to dear ol' Suguru, Satoru?" you force a smile through gritted teeth, your heart nearly thumping out your chest when you notice a vein ticking in his forehead.

"Shut your mouth"

"Oh but I-" he slams his foot down on your stomach. Violence. This is the first time Satoru's ever shown any violence towards you. The pure unadulterated violence targeted at your gut that leaves you breathless, your mind blinking red from the pain as black spots cover your vision. "Don't test me, darlin' because I'm not afraid to snap your neck right now" you should be scared, terribly so but oh the nickname, it still makes your heart flutter like it did in the past- he still hasn't dropped it even after all these years.

"Is that what you told Suguru when you killed him too?" You slur out because defeated or not, your pride still held on strong and you weren't go- Satoru raises his hand and before you know it, he lifts his foot off of you and grabs you by the neck, lifting you up in the air before slamming you down on the ground again. Hard, maybe it's time you rethink your life choices afterall. Air escapes your lungs, an incessant buzz ringing in your ear as you struggle to focus on the hand choking you down, instinctively grabbing onto it and digging your nails into it so hard that you could feel the small droplets of blood you drew out wetting your fingertips.

Satoru ignores your attempt to stop him, pulling you up to his eye-level "You don't seem to understand the danger you're in. I'm not playing around anymore, darlin'. It's time I finish what I started years ago" he tightens his hold, squeezing your eyes shut as you dig your nails impossibly harder. A dark smile slowly spreads across his face as he watches you gasp for air. "Did you really think you could leave me and get away with it?" Pathetic. It's all so pathetic, you're so pathetic, all that flailing and running for nothing. Satoru laughs, you flinch at the sound, as he watches your pathetic attempt at injuring him, you can't hurt him, the small bleeding cuts doesn't deter him...but it's cute that you tried.

He cups your cheek with his free hand, brushing his thumb over it ever so gently "Aww, did you just flinch? You used to love my laughter though, remember?" He coos and right he was, how could you ever forget his laughter? You loved it, you still do even when he's man-handling you with your life on the line. You flinched because you still love the sound, you're still in love with Satoru- or the memory of him, you're not sure anymore.

"You've changed" you cough out, throat sore and raspy, letting your hands fall weakly to your side as you defeatedly drop your gaze downwards, completely missing the way his expression darkens. Letting go of your cheek, he lifts your chin up to meet his eyes, cerulean eyes staring right into yours "It's been 10 years, people change. Maybe you should've thought on this before you turned your back to me, you've made a grave mistake, darlin' and you need to pay the price" he whispers, forcing you forward to lean his forehead against yours.

"Just so you know, you've changed for the worse" you whisper back, fear tingling in you when the hold on your throat tightens ever so slightly. "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. Haven't I mentioned it already? Everyone changes" he hums light-heartedly with his eyes closed, resembling a happy child reminiscing the past- oh the urge to punch his face black and blue.

"But you" he starts, looking at you again. "You haven't changed at all, you're just as beautiful as I remember. Just as beautiful as before" he leans in. One beat. Two beat. "And that pisses me off" a whisper.

"I miss the old you" you rasp out, earning you a smirk as he let's go of your chin. "You really think I give a damn about your opinion?" Before you know it, he slams his forehead against yours, letting go of his hold on your neck just to watch you dazedly flop back on the floor. He really can't give you a break, can he?

"You really think I care about what you say anymore?" Satoru grabs your wrists, pinning it above your head with one hand, using the other to force your cheeks together and roughly make you face him "You stole my heart and ran away with it once in the past" he leans in, breathe ghosting your ear as you groan softly at the dull ache in the back of your skull, the black splotches insistently blurring your sight. He pulls back, smiling down at you with a lopsided grin as he gets ontop of you, straddling your waist "I guess the only way to get back at you is to steal something equally important"

Your eyes immediately widens, mind suddenly clearing up and going into overdrive. Nonononononono, you loved him but not yet, not now, not like thi- his lips presses against yours. Tongue gently brushing against your lips, asking for entry, his last mercy. You don't comply, choosing to purse your lips shut instead, earning you a dissatisfied grunt. His fingers squeezes your cheeks impossibly harder but before he could slip his tongue in, you bite down on his bottom lip. Hard. Hard enough to tear the skin off, albeit shallow and draw blood.

Satoru pulls back with a smirk, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying this, the growing bulge pressing against your stomach was proof enough to alert even you. Letting go of your cheek, he runs the tip of his thumb across his bottom lip, pooling his blood just enough to gingerly swipe it against your lips to turn it a light red with a grin- you don't struggle, more like you can't because when he squeezes your wrist hard enough to bruise, you sure as hell aren't gonna take your chances. Pride and dignity be damned.

"You never liked to make it easy for me, never have. Guess that part of you haven't changed either" he mutters, forcing his thumb past your lips and pressing it flat against your tongue. "Suck" it's an order, a command that you're forced to follow so you comply, closing your lips against his thumb and carefully licking it clean, thickly swallowing the gag reflex forcing itself out at the metallic taste of blood coating your mouth. He soon let's out a satisfied hum, pulling his thumb out with a small pop! Slowly dragging it down your jaw, leaving behind a wet trail of your saliva. Down, down to your pulse point, your jugular, a quick swipe at your collarbone before he stops at the first button on your shirt with a widening grin.

"Satoru, pleas-" you start but he cuts you off, thumb pressing roughly above your rib cage. "It's too late for apologies darlin'. Far too late" he slides his thumb down, pop! The button easily giving way to the force he's using to slice through your flimsy button-up shirt. "You did this to yourself, it's all your fault" he hums, pulling your shirt open when he pops the last button off. The dull ache in your stomach from where he kicked you slowly fades as dread fills its place when you feel him roll his hips against you.

"You were mine once, that's never gonna change and this time I'll make sure of it"

__________________________________________________

Didn't have enough time to write the smut. Will probably work on it later...or maybe not :>

[lizaluvsthis]

SMG4: You used to be cool...

"HEY LIZ! howd that new epis-"

*DEEP BREATHING...*

*MOVES AWAY WIPS AND DROPS A NEW HYPERFIXATION*

*thanking @shygirl4991 for putting up some thoughts for the new episode! I really like to read those :)*

You- HAVE NO- F-CKING IDEA HOW LONG I QAS WAITING FOR THE "VILLAIN" THING. GAHHH!!!

OKAY SO-

wait sh-t wrong image...

SO THIS! RIGHT AFTER EGGMAN HAS OBSERVED SMG3 FROM THIS SHT- HE PUTS THREE ON A TEST AND THEN AFTER THOSE STUFF HE REACHED THE FINAL ONE- WHERE HE HAS TO UNALIVE HIS "ARCH NEMESIS" BUT WHAT EGGMAN DIDNT KNOW IS THAT THEY WERE BOTH "EX" RIVALS NOW.

BUT-BUT WHY???

cant we all just talk about the part when THREE WASNT CONSIDERED THE "COOL EVIL VILLAIN" to his other villain mates from what he USED to be back in the old days of his shenanigans??

Eggman doesnt see that our man three has had his thing called- " DEVELOPMENT " RIGHT AFTER THE WHOLE THING...

Three has gone far too long- three has been through so much and so many things had changed including him and his way of seeing things. He had gone too soft from the past few years and eggman sure had been catching up on his daily does.

EGGMAN. However. He considered to be three's idol back then- but now? He sees three as a 'low level of villain' because the three he knew before had so much destruction and destroying stuff.

Eggman missed the three he knew, the one who USED to be a total top Villain.

SMG3 has never realized how much things had changed and that he too did. Now bringing up this part

This part when three was shocked when Eggman told him that his final task was to "KILL" his arch nemesis. SMG3 is flabberghasted.

In his lair- room¿ he was practicing his shooting skill (pointing it at four) for the right aiming AND to finish him off.

See- I noticed something here- SMG3 couldn't bring himself up to do it for seconds... just a single detail of his hand SHAKING while holding a gun, pointing it at SMG4 (which is just a picture of him from a cardboard)

He couldnt do it- just- COULDNT. He had those memories flashing back to him, his hand holding with SMG4, how they both used to bond together, how he said they were FRIENDS and that he really meant to say that infront of his face, with four's reaction.

Notice how the music came to get intense during the flashbacks? Where we saw this event from Three drawing him and smg4 after 23th of wotfi? This is the most important part. That HE SMG3 drew them both together in his personal diary, a MOMENT of a good memory he and four created.

But oh wait- how did this come to three shooting him still? Even tho it was just a confetti? Why did he still shot SMG4 (on that picture)? I'll tell you another reason. "Christmas Wars" :) lets go back to that shall we?

"You'd consider partying with the guy that tried to kill us?"

Now THIS CANON EVENT. so happens to ruin Three's mood. THATS where he onwardly shoots four's picture with a gattling gun... a REASON. Why.

This triggered him SO much from the memories he spent with Four and what he'd thought about his ex rival.

After Three kept being indenial to eggdog that he doesn't care about SMG4 and that "he had NO character development" with him.

That was all a lie. (We already know that- but it's still important and relating to the episodes HOW MUCH of a bastard SMG4 is to SMG3, he continues to be friends with Four as he moves on.)

-the gun to four scene-

During this scene when Three barges in with Four making a new meme for his content Tomato Soup. Four never even thought about the things that could ever happen when three is there. He simply went on with the usual "friends conversations" talk.

Because four knows that they were both friends now. And that he knows 3 has gone soft. With an emotionless face, he approached to Four holding a GUN.

To where Four noticed- "oh a glock- watcha gonna do with that...?" He felt nervous and worried something with three carrying it- "Oh, something that I should of done long ago..." With Three holding up a gun and pointing it at Four, SMG4 screamed "THREE WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?"

The detail... his eyes? From a pinch of second his eyes when he LOOKED infront of Four's? He felt sorry to himself. He had been pointing this gun at SMG4 and the pain he's baring from his chest lived on with mixtures of feelings he had developing with Four next to him.

He was unsure. He couldnt decide- because HIM as SMG3 he wanted to be the most evil villain known of everyone and other of his villain buddies. Including Eggman. And with another spot he also wanted to make eggman prove to him that he hasnt gone soft.

that HE- would actually do it- for himself to prove that he is better...

But he cant- couldnt he?

Lets point this straight- we all get it- three has a soft spot- and that is SMG4 too- he could NEVER do that to him. He promised, he swore, he declared it, he announced it in official.

"Remember what I said? W-we- We're Friends!"

He will never EVER. take this part of him. He will never REMOVE THIS BECAUSE HE BUILT THIS DEVELOPING FRIENDSHIP WITH SMG4

he could never.

SOOO he ends up shooting the tomato with four gettin all worried n stuff- making that "blood splatter" from the window to where eggman mistaken that he actually "did" kill SMG4

SMG3 backfires on Eggman with a sneak attack,

"Like usual-"

Okay three- we get it. You annoy his ass back when he annoys you first. You ruin beeg and his dating plan and may or may have shoved a dynamite in four's mouth right after "the inspection" with his coffee request.

But we've never actually seen any other stuff beyond that reach right after wotfi 23... so three... tell me... how USUAL were you trying to put when you've BARELY DONE ANYTHING EVIL THAT RELATES FROM "KILLING" OUR GUY?

Maybe it was all... pure torture of asmr or just ruining four's day... (thats atleast what he'd meant when he said "killing you" with no tensions of doing so in literal)

When SMG4 looked at three who emotionally cried when he said this line- he still continued to cry (even after when Three smacked his face annoyed with him being a baby)

He still cried at his new meme continuosly. He didnt gave himself a second to think. "If he actually wanted to kill me, then why didnt he just do it already?" "What is stopping him from killing me?"

But no. HE JUST STRAIGHTS UP BEIN ALL OBLIVIOUS AND JUST FOCUSES IN ONE POINT AND CRIES DIRECTLY AT HIS TOMATO SOUP'S DEATH.

NOOO when i THOUGHT. ABOUT THE "allow me to demonstrate" GAVE ME THE REFERENCE FROM ANDRIAS'S WORDS FROM AMPHIBIA "TRUE COLORS" Scene... (if- you guys watched amphibia)

This part when Andrias said "allow me to demonstrate" thats the part he made the whole line about "thats how a thing about friends is it? The more you love em the more it hurts to let them go..." THEN THE LINE CONTINUES WITH HIM DROPPING DOWN THE PROTAGONIST'S FRIEND OFF A HEIGHT-

and seeing this part when- eggman said that? I am... SH-TTING with myself.

With three expecting to take the hit, but instead he pointed the missle at Four, Three would be expecting that now. But with eggman knowing that he and Four had a bond for a few years and on? HE POINTS IT TO FOUR ON PURPOSE. TO SEE HOW THREE WOULD BE ACTING.

Some of you might say "yeah we get it- he pointed that gun at four so whats up about it?" UM- EXCUSE ME... *COUGH* HE- WAS POINTING AT HIS DEAR FUTURE BOYFRIEND/HUSBAND-/HJ

With Three getting a bit too protective and tried defending SMG4 it was all on worth the time. As he squashed four's newly made meme, this is referenced from "mario's spicy day" where back back back BACKKKK in the episode where Four had destroyed Three's whole production area he had took time to work on.

SMG4 destroyed his children. Children of his own that were his MEMES. And putting it here when Four had his own memes as his children? IT WAS HIS- TURN TO SPIN THE TABLES AND PUNCH IT AT FOUR'S FACE.

To let him experience.

The suffering and pain he had done. Thats why... he laughed at him.

With SMG3 putting out his true speech from "I am happy with just the way I am..." he TENSIONALLY- PLACED- HIS RIGHT HAND AT SMG4'S SHOULDER. standing up at his own. All proud and happy...

Three finally learned his own lesson that he doesnt have to be forced to be like someone that he used to be and the stuff he'd usually did before. Because that was the old him, the old self of his? Is gone now. Three is continuing to bloom from his own way and had things that he ever needed or desired to have. A job of his? Is there, friends? There already, a partner by his side? Is also there! (Barely- but still is!) His twitch strreaming or taking care of his son? Is there!

He has had a new purpose of living and this is the path he chose. So he broke free from just by being himself and not getting pushed by other people by just telling him. "You used to be cool..." "wheres the old smg3 we knew?" "Why arent you the three we know that used to commit world destruction anymore?" "Wheres three?"

You cant call the old three because THIS IS THREE.

This is the baby boy we have and he still grows on and on out of his shell. Leave the man alone ya big bozos because he's having his own development, discovering his own ways between living the life of good and bad.

Three had an amazing development honsetly and I dont like how people say "we want the old three back" but you guys cant.

Anyways- these are my messages and uhhh a whole essay or... something- I'M GLAD YOU TOOK YOUR TIME ON READING THIS BECAUSE I REALLY LOVE LOOKING THROUGH THE DETAILS AND SLIGHT REFERENCES THAT'RE PUT IN HERE...

Please dont tell me these two will get foreshadowed... please dont.

AND THAT CALLS OUT FOR YOUR LIZA'S NEW FIXATION FOR THE NEW EPI-

*flat heart rate monitor*

[theyapper0]

Litte details abt my Hazbin rewrite that i wanna share :)

OK SO!!! IT'S DOOOOOONEEEE!!!!!!

So I FINALLY finished drawing out everything I wrote out for some major plot point in my hazbin rewrite 😋 BUT!!!

There's some things that I have made art of or talked about that are sorta important (but they're really not, just some silly things that I pictured in this that I never got the chance to talk about yet LOL!!!)

If you don't really care, feel free to skip this but there are some little doodles here too that will basically get all my points across just as well!

-So first point, I've touched on this a little bit here but Niffty and Husk are BROS. Like fr ride or die with each other.

In this rewrite, I want Niffty to have been an overlord like Husk (or at least just as powerful as he is because I feel like Alastor is EXTREMELY attracted to power and he wouldn't just make deals with weak as shit people unless he was gaining something GRAND).

But Husk and Niffty, they both.... really hate Alastor. I think Husk is much more vocal with his hatred towards Alastor but do NOT be fooled, NIFFTY WANTS HIS ASS IN THE GROUND TOO!!!!!!

And I think it's because of this hatred, because of this shared, unfortunate situation that they've both found themselves in in regards to being contracted to the Radio Demon, I think they are really close. Like, they look out for each other and watch each others backs because who else is gonna do it? ALASTOR? LOL!!!!

-Here's my Sir Pentious and Cherri Bomb designs!! I realized when I was making all those drawings for the rewrite that I never drew them! So here they are! 😋

Pentious has prosthetic arms that he made himself not too long after he arrived in Hell YEARS AGO bc I wanted to REAAALLY lean into the whole snake thing. And I also made him more steampunk-y because I think it's cool and that he'd look super adorable with little gear markings on his scales

And I read that Cherri died in around the 80's so I wanted to give her an aussie rocker look LMAOO Wild hair, big ol' hoop earrings and tattered clothes because she's COOL!!

-Niffty is the (m)hotel's maid/rooms keeper still (and it was only SLIGHTLY degrading in the beginning). The biggest reasons Alastor made her the maid is because of her OCD (he's an old man from the 1930's, he thinks OCD means being a neat freak) and because she is able to control all kinds of insects and vermin- which the hotel is INFESTED with

Niffty is also the only one with a spare key to Charlie and Vaggie's house, she's honestly the one they trust the MOST out of everyone at the hotel to have a key to their place in case of an emergency (and she only abuses it SOMETIMES)

-HUSK IS NOT THE HOTEL BARTENDER IN THIS!!!!!!

When I designed the hotel to look more like a motel, obviously there was no place to put a bar and I WANTED THAT! Like, I understand the humor in having a bar in a rehabilitation facility (it IS REALLY FUNNY I KNOW) but I really don't think that, even in this, neither Charlie or Vaggie would allow Alastor or Angel or anyone else to tell THEM what the hotel needs.

Like, they LITERALLY built this place with their BARE HANDS, I think they're both verrrry resistant to any changes and such that others may want to implement (for both the good and bad), even if that person was THE Radio Demon

So instead, Alastor had brought him in as a sorta bodyguard for the hotel (as a huge middle finger to Vaggie, who is not only the hotel manager but also is a very ready protector of this place)

(Husk DOES still sell liquor though, like that is something that is totally happening, it's just very hush-hush. He keeps it in his room and sells it to the patrons of the hotel (sometimes Pretentious and most of the time it's just Angel. Charlie and Vaggie have no idea this is happening))

(Niffty 100% knows since she's the one who cleans the rooms but she wouldn't sell out Husk because that's her bro)

-And speaking of the Radio Demon!!! Neither Charlie or Vaggie are scared of him. I mean, they're not really scared of him in canon (they could be sometimes tho ig)

Charlie is one of the strongest beings in Hell and Vaggie is (secretly) an angel who, as far as they all know, can't be killed by a Sinner. So neither of them are really threatened by him. Vaggie definitely voices this more than Charlie does, in fact, Charlie is almost always more than happy to just let Alastor talk and threaten as much as he wants because she's not violent and is very humble (that's what good people do, right?)

Alastor is also just as good of a Facility Manager of the Hazbin Hotel as he is in canon, and by that I mean he does not do his job and when he does, he sucks at it LOLLLL. He is very unhelpful.

-Sundays are the only day where the hotel isn't doing any reformative work/lessons so it's everyones' day off (it's holy day AMEN!) 

(Charlie WOULD make them pray on Sundays if it wasn't for the fact that every time she would try to guide a prayer, she would bleed from every hole in her body) 

-AND THE LAST POINT IS....

The Hazbin Hotel doesn't JUST do lessons in goodness, they also teach about the 10 Commandments and go on “field trips” to do volunteer work (soup kitchens, cleaning parks, helping Hell with one smile at a time :)

Thanks for reading and be sure to check in tomorrow for the first page of a comic retelling Charlie's meeting with Adam in episode one!!!

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[imgeekgirlfan]

Down The Road (F1 x Reader) SMAU Season 1

>> Down The Road 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Next Part

Taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @jpg3 , (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

A/N : For the story of Lewis Hamilton, I drew inspiration from the romantic relationship between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall that blossomed when they worked together for the first time. I wanted to portray it in the world of F1. Additionally, Lewis Hamilton has been a staunch supporter of female racers for many years, making him a fitting figure to play a significant role in supporting Reader to become an F1 driver. I hope you'll enjoy it.

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Season 1 : ── 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐬 ── (Lewis Hamilton x Reader) S1 : E01 𝐵𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙

Y/N's first F1 race marks the first official competition between her and Lewis Hamilton. Despite their strong mentor-student bond, within the competitiveness world of Formula 1, where there is no room for friendship, one would wonder if the intense competition will forever change their relationship, or if it had been altered long ago?

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Source: @thesportingnews

It's worth keeping an eye on this year's Japanese Grand Prix, as it is the first encounter between Hamilton and Y/N as Formula 1 competitors competing against each other on the track. Their relationship adds an intriguing layer to this race, making it more than just about the race results. Nonetheless, this is an important milestone for Formula One and will undoubtedly be a memorable part of its history, regardless of the race's outcome.

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Source: Y/N instagram (update)

“Such a warm welcome from Japanese fans! (don't forget to wish me good luck for tomorrow)”

Y/N's first Instagram post after being selected as an F1 racer, amidst a warm welcome from fellow peers in the industry

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Source: @ESPNF1

The first woman to lead an F1 race!

And the first woman to stand on the podium! 

Congratulations to @Y/N on the P3 in the F1 race. She deserves it.

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Source: @GiveMeSport

An historic moment unfolded at the Japanese Grand Prix as a thrilling battle ensued between Y/N and Lewis Hamilton for the third position. They fiercely contested each other, with Y/N emerging victorious in the final seconds, clinching P3. It marked her first podium finish in F1, while Hamilton settled for P4, missing out on a podium opportunity. Despite this, he displayed no signs of disappointment, and instead, he congratulated Y/N on her remarkable skills, acknowledging her as the brightest rising star in the current motorsport scene.

"She's made me feel like I'm looking at myself in the past," Hamilton said. "Y/N's skills are absolutely impressive, without a doubt. She's proven that she's a perfect fit for F1 racing. I couldn't be prouder of her.”

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Source: Y/N twitter (update)

“It's true, I can confirm.”

Y/N confirms the truth, as the over-the-top celebration by Lewis turned into a global internet sensation.

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Source: Y/N twitter (update)

“A memorable night in Japan. Thank you for your constant support. Love”

Y/N seems to be celebrating success with a mysterious man after securing her first P3 in the F1 race. This has sparked curiosity and speculation across the internet, creating a buzz of discussion.

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Source: Lewis Hamilton twitter (update)

Lewis Hamilton shared a photo of himself in Japan for fans to enjoy on Twitter, and some eagle-eyed fans noticed that he was wearing the same shirt as the mysterious man in Y/N's Twitter post. Fans have speculated that he might be the same person who hooked up with Y/N tonight, but there has been no confirmation from either Y/N or Hamilton.

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𝙏𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙚𝙙 (in the next chapter)

Cr.https://www.sportingnews.com/us/formula-1/news/f1-drivers-2023-lineup-teams-new-season/wdvykqplavtagztd6sw7d853https://twitter.com/ESPNF1/status/1705834988711661627https://www.givemesport.com/88069766-lewis-hamilton-praises-jamie-chadwick-on-record-breaking-third-w-series-title/

[artofalassa]

Really love your art ❤️ the wings you draw looks amazing 👏 how does one draw them? 👀 do you use any references?

Oh my god, this ask is making the circle full fr. ;; Thank you SO MUCH, Anon!! I've had an enormous wing kink most of my life, but scared of drawing and avoiding them for uh.......... most of my life lol. So reading this means A LOT. TLDR - yes, use refs of all sorts of birds! use gradients! don't overdoit with brushstrokes! wings are paperthin!

In 2021 I said fck it and-- asked my partner, @lesoldatmort, who's a wing-master to teach me how to wings. And the answer was simple - use refs. I did! And it looked better than before. But. Uh.

Most of my wings looked like-- pillow sheets? Or. Pillows. Blankets. Puffy and thick. (Rafe from December, 2020)

So the biggest trouble for me personally (and for my partner, who was trying to knock it in my thick skull), was to get the wings as thin as possible. And use refs. And draw a lot of wings.

The biggest and best advice I got from my man, was to think of wings as of paper. Flat and thin. And use gradients for the sections instead of too many brushstrokes for each feather. Actually, save on the brushstrokes where you can.

January 2022 this was the best I could do. And that's after a LOT of interference from my partner, who kept nagging me to get rid of brushstrokes and add. more. gradients.

In June I decided I'm cracking the case. Gave up on trying to paint too much, because I prefer lineart 95% of the time anyway and drew the Howl piece. Still too many brushstrokes, but I used vulture photos as a reference for this one. Adoration is from this time as well. Used a pinned down bald eagle as a ref for Zack's wing.

In summer, I did some more random studies, kept looking at wings very closely. Looked at other artists drawing them. In September I was lucky enough to get cmed to draw safer Sephiroth. And that was probably the final moment I gave up on too many details and brushes and started stylizing the hell out of it. And using gradients. And lasso tool. As my partner's been telling me for almost two years at that point. Thin. Finally.

And then I just kept going. Simplifying the hell out of them............

And here we are. I have a problem. It's called a wink kink. And I'm loving it. <3

A few months ago, due to a gender crisis, lol, I even started using the name "Alas" along with Alassa. Which supposedly means "wing" in latin.

So... Thank you for coming to my ted talk and personal vent and rant. Sorry this got so long! However, seeing somebody asking me specifically about wings in my art... feels like reaching a finish line after years of whining. Thank you so much! ;; <3

[runnning-outof-time]

The Good I’ll Do | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @sunsetbeachesandwriting ‘s 500 Follower Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy and (Y/N) finally step over the line after the celebration of the legal betting license that was given to the family.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, roaming hands and heavy kissing (pg-13 rated)

Word Count: 2458

A/N: this was such a fun story to write. I chose the prompt: “What's going on inside that head of yours?” and also drew inspiration from the song The Good I’ll Do by Zach Bryan. Congratulations on your milestone! Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

Drinks were flowing at the Garrison, everyone was in good spirits. Tommy had managed to get the family a legal betting license, which meant that the operation that was run out of their Watery Lane home was on the verge of an expansion. Things were looking up, and to (Y/N), it felt like they'd won the lottery and become millionaires. No one could touch the Shelbys now.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) had known the Shelby family for several years now. She met them through Martha, John's late wife, who was her good friend. When she passed, (Y/N) stayed, feeling like the Shelbys were her people; like she belonged with them. She helped out at the shop, running the papers and checking the books alongside Polly, and had quickly become an integral part of both the business and the family.

"Another one, (Y/N)?" Polly questioned as she walked over to the booth the younger woman was sitting in with two glasses in her hands.

"Can't say no, can I?" (Y/N) teased with a grin, accepting the glass as Polly sat down next to her.

"I've already poured it," the older woman grinned, sipping on her drink.

(Y/N) mirrored her, her eyes falling on the boys again. They were over at the bar, talking animatedly about something, smiles on each of their faces. She was happy to see them smile again. Life after the war was tough on each of them in their own way.

Arthur struggled with keeping his head right, and at times he'd have trouble keeping himself, and his actions, in check. John came home to four kids to watch over, and he was having trouble settling into that role without a woman by his side. And then there was Tommy. Tommy kept everything in and focused every bit of himself on bettering the family business. It paid off, but (Y/N) was able to see what it cost him.

She'd be lying if she said that she didn't feel something each time she looked at him. There was something in the way he held himself; the way that he put himself on the line for his family, that sparked something within her.

Seeing him smile now as they celebrated their moving up in the world made her the most happy. Maybe now he'd slow down.

"It's good to see them happy," she voiced her thoughts to Polly after a few moments had passed.

"It's well deserved," Polly agreed with a nod, a smile on her face. "They'll be happy tonight and then go back to work tomorrow." (Y/N) nodded along, her eyes focused on the three.

—

Some time later, (Y/N) was ready to leave. She finished whatever was in her glass before she pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her shoulders. Things had settled down as the night went on, and now only the Shelby family and some remaining patrons were left in the bar. Harry was working on straightening everything up and the barmaid, Grace (Y/N) remembered her name to be, was still working the bar.

After grabbing her purse, (Y/N) looked around the room. Polly was still sitting with the man she'd taken a shine to. They were in a booth across the room talking about something. What?…(Y/N) did not know. John and Arthur were in the bag, both of them slouched back in the booth that was behind (Y/N)'s. Tommy had gone into the snug to get away from the noise some time ago, and (Y/N) had no doubt that he was still in there.

She made her way over to the side room's door before heading out the main one. She opened the door wide enough to peek her head through, seeing Tommy sitting in his usual chair, reading the paper with a cigarette between his fingers. He looked over in (Y/N)'s direction when he heard the door open. "I'm going home. I just wanted to say goodbye," she told him her reason behind her presence.

Tommy nodded before he set the paper down on the table and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. "I'll walk you home," he announced as he stood from the chair.

"Oh, Tommy, you don't..."

"I was leaving anyway," he cut her off before she was able to decline his offer.

"Are...are you sure?" she asked, frozen as Tommy walked to the door so that he could open it wider.

"That I was leaving? Yes, (Y/N), I'm sure," he answered her with a slight grin on his face, waiting for her to step out of the way so that he could exit the snug. "Let's go," he nodded towards the door then, and all (Y/N) could do was nod back before she allowed him to make the first move. She fell in line beside him then and they exited the tavern.

— —

"This is mine," (Y/N) said as she and Tommy walked up the steps towards her apartment.

"I know, (Y/N)," Tommy responded, his words making her giggle, "I've been here before."

She took hold of the door handle then, surprised that she was able to insert the key and turn it to unlock the door on the first try. Before opening the door, she turned to look at Tommy again. "I just wanted to tell you in case you forgot," she informed him, her words making him chuckle as he heard them. She held his eyes for a moment then, her insides fluttering at the feeling of being trapped under his gaze. "Do you want to come in?" she asked him then, her voice softer than before.

"Would you let me?" Tommy responded with a question his own, his voice dropping to meet the volume she used.

"I asked you, didn't I?" she pointed out, unable to keep the smile from forming on her face as she giggled slightly.

"You did," he agreed with her, pursing his lips as he tried to hide his smile.

"Come in, Tommy," she whispered, her smile full now as she turned the handle and opened the door to her apartment. Like she'd asked, Tommy followed her, shutting the door behind him before he turned to watch (Y/N) as she took off her coat.

(Y/N), aware of his eyes on her, concentrated on what she was doing so that she didn't make a fool out of herself. She slipped her arms out of her coat, but got caught before she was able to get it completely off of her body. Instead of finding the problem, she began shaking her arms in hopes that she'd fix it. In the midst of her movements, she found that her purse was still on her shoulder and that she’d managed to get the strap caught the coat's arm. She stopped her struggle and placed the purse on the table so that she'd be able to take the coat off successfully. She heard Tommy chuckle once she was finished. "What?" she asked him, turning to face him as her cheeks heated up.

"You're beautiful," he told her, the corner of his lips quirked upwards in a grin.

"I think the proper statement would be 'you're drunk'," she pointed out, giggling slightly as her cheeks got even warmer. She was surely blushing at this point.

"It always affects you in beautiful ways," he told her, his grin growing because he was able to see how she was reacting to his words. She looked away from him then, knowing full-well that his eyes were still focused on her. She didn't know what to do, or say, but she couldn't deny that the feelings she had towards him had now been kicked into overdrive.

Several silence filled moments passed before (Y/N) looked over to Tommy again. It didn't surprise her that he was still looking at her. His gaze hadn't moved from when they finished speaking. She tried to keep herself composed as she opened her mouth to speak again. "Will you stay?" she asked, timidness now apparent in her voice.

Tommy tried to hide his smile again, his eyes shifting to the far wall for a moment before they found hers again. "I'll sleep on the floor," he answered her question.

(Y/N) smiled at his response and walked the few steps between them so that she was standing in front of him. She looked down at his hands before she took them into hers, immediately noticing the calloused nature of them as they wrapped around hers completely. She then let her eyes rise up his body until they found his again, and she noticed how he was trying to keep himself composed. For a moment, she wondered if he felt the same way inside as she did right now. Her heart was racing, but the feeling of his hands holding hers grounded her.

She searched his eyes for a moment longer, almost drowning in their blueness before she spoke again, "I'm proud of you, Tommy," she told him, her voice just above a whisper.

Tommy heard her loud and clear due to their closeness and her words, combined with the feeling of her hands in his, made him gain the confidence to jump over the edge and into the unknown. Time seemed to slow down as his gaze flitted down to her lips before coming back up again.

Nothing else needed to be said. They both knew what would happen next. (Y/N)'s hands left his and moved to the sides of his torso at the same time that his hands rose to take hold of her cheeks. Tommy then closed the gap between them, dropping his lips onto hers in a haste kiss, one that immediately had tongues clashing and hands roaming in hopes to find a place to purchase and hold onto.

"Tommy," she gasped as his lips left hers and trailed down her jaw to find a new spot on her neck. Her hands moved underneath his jacket, blindly working to unbutton his waistcoat so that she could get to the collared shirt that was underneath it.

"I know," he mumbled against his skin, gently pulling on the sleeve of her dress so that he'd be able to kiss her collarbone. She'd just managed to unbutton his shirt when he lifted her up and moved her over to the table. Her dress got hiked up towards her waist and his hands moved from the swell of her hips to the exposed area of thighs, her skin turning white under the path that his nails took.

Moving her hands from his sides, (Y/N) took hold of Tommy's face, making him raise his eyes to hers again. Nothing was said between them. They just smiled at each other, the both of them knowing exactly what the other was thinking. After so many instances of toying with the invisible line that stood between them, they'd finally crossed it. And now that they had, neither wanted to go back.

(Y/N)'s eyes dropped to his lips this time, and she didn't even try to be coy about it. Instead of finding his eyes again, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, kissing him slower and deeper this time; savoring the feeling of his lips on hers. Tommy wrapped arms around her waist again, allowing him to pull her flush against his body. (Y/N) squeaked at the movement before following it with a sigh of content. There was no place she'd want to be more in her life from now on than where she was right now.

—

"What's going on inside that head of yours?" (Y/N) asked Tommy as she ran her hand lazily through his hair. They'd moved to her bed and were now practically laying on top of each other due to its small size. Tommy had taken off his upper layers, leaving him in his undershirt with the suspenders he was once wearing hung loosely off of his trousers. (Y/N) was still in her dress, although it was now slightly disheveled from her trying to find a comfortable position...it was tough having two people on a bed meant for one.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response, his eyes still focused on the ceiling.

"You're thinking of something...I can tell," she told him as she rolled slightly so that she could see him better. He turned his head slightly as she moved, his eyes hooking onto hers for the umpteenth time that night. "What are you thinking, Tommy?" she asked him softly after a few moments had passed.

He didn't speak right away, and instead reached up to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. His actions made her cheeks heat up and bashful giggles escape her lips. "I don't want to hide anymore...I need someone who I can be with for more than just a night," he told her as he ran the back of his hand down her cheek again. (Y/N)'s heart felt like it was going to burst at his admission, but she wasn't able to say anything in response because Tommy had put a slight pressure on her cheek, physically telling her that he wanted her face closer to his. "Tell me that you need me, (Y/N)," he breathed against her lips, just barely touching them as he spoke.

"I need you," she whispered back without hesitation before she closed the gap and kissed him again.

Their kiss was languid and only lasted a few moments before Tommy pulled back again. "There's so much good I'll do with you by my side," he told her, speaking with an honesty she'd never heard from him before, "this license is just the beginning," he added before matching his lips to hers again. They shared a few more lazy kisses before pulling away again.

A wordless smile was shared before (Y/N) dropped her head down on his chest. Silence fell around them as (Y/N) closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the lines Tommy was tracing on her back as his heart beated steadily against her ear.

Neither knew how much time had passed before Tommy spoke again. His voice was soft, but (Y/N) heard him loud and clear: "I feel like I'm new when I'm with you, (Y/N)." It sounded like it was a sleepy confession, one that a person would say when they thought their partner was asleep, so she let it stay at that. Although she couldn't help but smile at his admission. What he probably didn't know was that she felt the exact same way.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @sunsetbeachesandwriting

MASTERLIST

Listen to the song The Good I’ll Do by Zach Bryan

HERE.

[safe-from-sharp-teeth]

Ayo! I haven't answered asks in FOREVER, so it's time for some spring cleaning :) Also answering other stuff, like what I've been up to.

If you sent an ask and it's not here, sorry! I may have deleted it because the prompt required too much work of me and I wasn't feeling it, or I was uncomfortable.

Let's gooooo !

Firstly - where have I been? Work REALLY picked up in a way I wasn't expecting over the last...4 months? I was working double and often triple the hours I was used to. With work, vacations, random illnesses, and many video games I got a bit too obsessed with, this blog took a backseat. Plus, sometimes I get disinterested in vore when obsessed with something else. Sometimes, that lasts months, and it did this time.

But now I can confirm that work will FINALLY chill for a long period of time. I'm free! And more motivated than ever! Wahoo! Thanks for your support ALWAYS.

Next big question - when am I going to do more of my story? The one with Asyr? AHHHHHGHHGHH this story has consumed my life. I think about it daily. I dream about it. And yet I'm not as comfortable writing as I am drawing, so writing is a slow process that my perfectionist ass struggles with. I can assure you that there is a story in the works - and I am working on it at a snail's pace.

Okay, ask time...

@ponyluvesonic09 AYO maybe I'll make a full ghost pred pros/con list for you, because that sounds awesome! Kir//by is one of the silliest canon preds out there. Honestly getting eaten by him would be like getting vored by a vacuum, LOL. Galaxy tummy!! Imagine a prey floating around in one of those item bubbles all grumpy. Thank u for the ask, this is good stuff.

no. ( /・・)ノ

UWAGHHHHH I LIKE HER!!! Never played O/verwat/ch but what a gem!! I have a random fondness for centaur-like preds nowadays. She looks so cozy. THANK U I LOVE HER!!!

@tiger9o0 I have not played r//ain w//orld or know what it's about, LOL. Looks like a platformer? Man, I'm terrrriiiiibblleee at those. But whoever this is on the cover, I LIKE EM. A+. (That might not answer ur question shdjbghkjg SORRY)

@heimkoheimkofan LOVE THAT I GOT THE ROBOT ENJOYERS AFTER THAT ONE POST....YES yall are so right and I'm so wrong for just hard metal robot tums. I will rectify my mistake soon I PROMISE. Also oh! You were the one asking about stomachs other than elemental ones! IVE HAD THAT IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER IM SORRY AHHHH. I REALLY love your imagination with tums and you've inspired me to think of some awesome environments! THANKS

@fastfur07 BWAH?? Ugh I'm all over the place when it comes to art. Some pieces take 30 min (like the zangooc I drew at the top of this post), most take 2 days. Some really hard drawings like my wolf bat creechur from a few months ago and my shrimp from last year took a month. THANK U??

We're going back so far that I think this is about my naga oc (which I'm in the midst of redesigning cough cough). For him, he would never tolerate being prey, extremely unwilling bahaha. In general, I haven't thought much about naga or snake prey! I get the appeal of slurping up a noodle, but I just prefer human prey :)

@fastfur07 you fiend, you always give me the best drawing ideas. UNFORTUNATELY, I didn't have time to draw something for this one. BUTTTT....

(i've had this next one in my drafts for forever)

then i had a silly comic. I'll post the wip here because I won't finish it, so enjoy bahaha.

@blizzaria123-blog THANK U im rapidly melting into a puddle from ur words

@mrpotatomanversionsix relevant. i will continue drawing them 4 u

?!??!!??!?!??!?!?!??!?!? how dare u enter my ask box with this blasphemy

@sfwsillynoms WAH!!! you!!! I'm currently redesigning my naga oc but when I finish I'll tag you, if you're still around! And he can 100% be drawn with ur preysona :)

@mystorl i am SO late to this, but SMART. I like it. I shall give my lil guy this friend. I just want to let u know that I see this and it's wonderful and I will do something abt it.

I remember this ask made me laugh a ton when I first got it. thank u. idk why I find this so funny

@sillylilprey IM CRYING RIGHT BACK AHHHH this is an ancient ask, but thank u! hope you're still enjoying!

@terrytheinsane finally, the last ask in my askbox. I love it. You have been wronged with how long it took me to answer you. I have gained knowledge from your ask. THANKS

AND THAT'S IT!! Thanks guys, I hope to make you proud! Feel free to send more asks, and hopefully I will answer in a TIMELY manner.

Goodnight! And remember: Nice Vore ᕕ༼⌐■-■༽ᕗ

[drewstarkeyupd]

Queer Makes Drew Starkey a Movie Star. Its Impact on Him Was Even More Profound

The Outer Banks star redefines himself as Daniel Craig’s enigmatic lover. Over lunch with Vanity Fair, he calls the role “a wake-up call for me.”

By David Canfield

September 13, 2024

media.vanityfair.com

Photo by Greg Williams

“This is my breakfast,” Drew Starkey proclaims as a plate of medium-rare steak and potatoes gets placed in front of him, a near-empty cup of black coffee to its side. He woke up at noon, coming off of a late-night screening of his new movie Queer, for his final day in Toronto. It’s the last meal the 30-year-old star will have before he flies home, taking a pause from the glamorous fall-festival circuit. He’s just walked the same Venice red carpet as Angelina Jolie and Nicole Kidman; he’s newly swept up into the A24 family. Things are moving fast. As he searches for a fork, it’s natural to wonder how he’s taking it all in.

The answer to that is hardly simple, in part because Starkey’s been on a journey of introspection since he was cast in Queer well over a year ago. An adaptation of William S. Burroughs’s semi-autobiographical 1985 novel, the film directed by Luca Guadagnino takes an elliptical approach to the story of a slippery romance between two men in mid-century Mexico City. Lee (Daniel Craig) becomes infatuated with a beautiful, enigmatic younger man named Allerton (Starkey), whose sexual proclivities prove maddeningly difficult to read. They become intimate—as captured by Guadagnino in explicit, passionate detail—and eventually travel both around South America and into the depths of their own subconscious (via a trippy ayahuasca sequence). One piece of dialogue, spoken at different points by both of them, haunts their courtship: “I’m not queer, I’m disembodied.”

Starkey references the line at one point over our meal. A feeling of disembodiment rushed up in him about as soon as he finished production on Queer, one of many reasons he’s still processing the film’s impact on him. Its professional impact may be clearer: The star of Netflix’s Outer Banks and teen films like Love, Simon reintroduces himself here with a rich, complex, and brave performance that ought to open new doors. But as we chat, he sounds more interested in the personal doors Allerton may have introduced him to.

At the film’s Toronto premiere the night before our interview, Starkey revealed on stage that Guadagnino first described Allerton to him as a “nasty bitch.” Naturally, we began there.

Vanity Fair: Let’s start with “nasty bitch.” How do you react when you get that description for your character?

Drew Starkey: Luca was being cheeky, but in earlier conversations we had, he talked about Allerton as cold and slippery and very hard to read—and Lee is always trying to put his finger on the pulse or define him in some way. He’s always just out of grasp or just out of reach. There’s a quote that Burroughs had in the original Queer from 1985, one of the last paragraphs. In the sentence, it says something to the effect of, “What happened to that knife called Allerton?” That image was always really an anchor for me. So, a nasty bitch. [Laughs]

You’ve talked about how you are still figuring him out.

I’m going to give you a Burroughs quote. For the last few days, I’ve had his quotes in mind.

Just for the last few days?

[Laughs] Well, the past year-and-a-half. But he was talking about writing Junkie versus writing Queer. He said that he felt like he was the one writing Junkie but he felt as if Queer was writing him. That kind of mirrored my experience in the filming of it. I felt like I did all my work, and I had to let Allerton lead me—which is so different from the way that I’ve worked in the past. It was a lot of meditating and letting things happen. But it was tough. It was really tough.

What does surrendering to the material feel like?

It feels like you’re holding onto a plane crash. You’re like, “I hope I survive this.” There’s an energy to it. [Costume designer] Jonathan Anderson is a friend of Elton John’s, who was an incredible help in terms of the wardrobe and what he wears. So much of it was the image of Allerton, what Lee is drawn into and sucked into. That was really a lot of the focus: What’s the silhouette going to be here?

I was going to ask you about the physicality. You move in a very specific, alluring way.

Well, I lost a lot of weight for it. There’s only a few photos of Lewis Marker, who Allerton was based on, but he was very thin. The bodies of that time were not very muscular.

There was just a great essay in TheNew York Times that touched on that, specifically related to the show Fellow Travelers.

Yeah, I wanted to avoid that. I see it a lot, in a kind of mid-century period setting—because that’s such a modern look. This was about a four-month process of losing about 30 pounds. At first, I stopped eating. Not a great idea. Then I worked with a nutritionist. I got a little bit too skinny at one point and then he was like, “Wait, wait, wait.” But that really did change the way I felt and moved. It felt very natural. And then [Daniel and I] were in, essentially, a dance class with each other. My body felt a lot more fluid and I think that kind of informed my gait. It felt like a lot of outside-in work, which was fun.

You clearly sensed this was a major opportunity. What scared you the most?

Living up to material. I felt a lot of pressure, maybe too much. I was quite nervous, and usually I feel okay. And this was like my heart was racing on the first day. One, Luca and the words of Burroughs, and then Justin Kuritzkes did such an amazing job with [the script]. But then working with Daniel and Lesley [Manville] and Jason [Schwartzman], it was an amazing cast. I felt like I was being found out. I never really had that before.

And given the weight loss, you had a lot of time to think about it before even stepping on that set. Could you think about anything else?

No. I was just engrossed with everything. All my responsibilities went out the window. I mean, every day I woke up and thought about it. It really felt like who I was for a year and a half. I’m not one that can really detach from a role and work in that way. It has to be: Blinders on. I can’t separate.

Everyone’s last day of shooting was the final scene you see in the movie. It was Daniel and me, and it was very emotional on the last day. I never really cry. And I’m crying! Just because it was so—it was so much. It was such a release.

Did you feel generally nervous to do sex scenes as you would be asked to do in this movie?

Not more than any other film, any other sex scene. But there was so much conversation around it, too. Luca made it a point during the first two weeks in Rome, when we had table readings and rehearsals, to separate those and talk about those as their own thing. Get comfortable with it. Daniel and I had been familiar with each other enough that by the time we got there, it felt like any other day.

Really?

It, strangely enough, did. There was such a comfort in our bodies. We were really, for months, essentially in a kind of choreographed jujitsu. There was no trepidation. There was no shying away from the nude scenes at all. Dan and I just wanted it to exude a type of truth and normalcy, how two people would be intimate with one another. You don’t want to put anything on top of it. Yeah, so strangely enough, no, it didn’t. It really didn’t.

To your point about the choreography though, there are specific sex scenes that indicate where the characters are in relation to each other, in terms of power and connection. How did you balance the jujitsu you’re talking about with that sense of intimacy?

We would talk with Luca about how he had a picture for it, his ideals for a given scene. We would just walk through it, but then left some freedom to let things happen. That’s the way Luca works in general. He’ll have a specific idea like, “Here’s my idea for what I think it should be, how I think it should be played out.” And then it’s a very intimate, small, closed set. Only the camera operator, Bianca [Butti] was with us. Months prior, of course, that was something that I was weighing like, “Oh, my God”—I was pretty nervous about it. When you read the script and you see the scene, you go like, “Oh, man.” But Luca was very, very particular about, “I will do nothing that you are uncomfortable with.” We had an open dialogue about all that. And Daniel is also such a giving person. He’s a great partner. Once we got into working, all of that was fine.

The final chapter of the film centers on Lee and Allerton doing ayahuasca. Have you done ayahuasca before?

No, but I’m interested. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time to; I don’t think right now is the right time. It hasn’t called to me. But we had some crew who had done ayahuasca and it was a great reference. It was like: “Okay, how did it feel in your body? How did it feel to walk? How nauseous were you?” That part was really fun. Yeah, I’ve never done ayahuasca—yet. But it seems, I don’t know. I certainly have some things that I need to address.

What can you share about that?

This year, I definitely got happier with myself. The past five years or so it’s been fast-paced and always going. Funnily enough, the strike happened and I felt incredibly disembodied. I had nothing to latch on to. I actually thought about Burroughs in that time, and his relationship with what he calls the ugly spirit. It’s this version of yourself that only wants to destroy, and how to make destruction your friend. I really did a lot of soul-searching, because we finished right before the strike happened. It was like boom-boom—I had this very intense, beautiful, creative kind of experience, and then nothing. I was a little mad.

Did you feel like work was important to keeping those feelings at bay?

Yeah, and maybe it’s not really that active. It’s just, I care so much about this and I want to do this, and that’s a byproduct. You lose a sense of yourself. That’s definitely my relationship with acting. I don’t feel like a confident person. I love life and I love tackling life, but in some way, I’m substituting the job for therapy. I never have admitted that I was doing that. And then this past year, I was like, “Oh, that is what I’m doing.” Now I need to actually ask questions about myself and consider myself, and talk and communicate. I didn’t do that a lot about what I was going through. I love to work and I love to distract myself.

It’s interesting to be going through that while you’re playing a character who is so non-verbal.

Mm-hmm. I’ve thought about this a lot. Even though Allerton felt like the hardest person to be, he also felt like the closest person to me in a way. In a lot of ways I really, really understood him and it felt like me—the way he moves through the world, the way he interacts with people. It was like, “Oh, right, that’s how I would be.” Maybe he was a wake-up call for me.

You already alluded to it, but I was going to ask you: What does, “I’m not queer. I’m disembodied” mean to you? Clearly, you’re someone who thinks a lot about Burroughs these days, and it is the core line of the film.

Oh, I’ve thought a lot about Burroughs. I think it’s the inability to define yourself. He doesn’t use language to express anything, to show his admiration or how he feels. Luca always said in the beginning of this, “It’s not a story about unrequited love. It’s a story about unsynchronized love.” Having that type of love can make you feel more detached from yourself. These are two people who do have this love for each other, and it’s beautiful—you see fleeting moments of it, and you see Lee attach himself to those moments. But they’re operating on two different planes of time in some way. That can make you feel more disconnected, experiencing that and confronting that with your counterpart, than even being alone can. [Pause] Yeah, I think I answered?

Very much so. It’s a movie that prods some deeper introspection, so I appreciate the answers.

Yeah, I know it’s a movie that if I saw it at 14 or 15, it would open doors for me, like: “Oh, my God.” My parents weren’t prudish in any way, but there was definitely some censorship. It was my grandma who was watching us, I was maybe 10, when she was like, “What rated-R movie do you want to watch? Pick one. Go pick one.” Me and my brother were like, “Okay!” I think we watched The Patriot or something. [Laughs] But yeah, I’ve had to go off and find those things on my own.

This interview has been edited and condensed. This story has been updated.

[rrxaiky]

𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, - 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍

HSR: Jing Yuan x GN! Reader WARNINGS/ TAGS: Mild hurt/comfort, implied character deaths, half angst half fluff, OOC warning [1.2K WC]

── YOU WILL ALWAYS BE YOU.

A/N: Physics homework? Art project? Pft what's that? (Writing this was more important to me than my work apparently) This was supposed to be scrapped, but then I decided to just finish it (This isn't the best, sorry)

HSR MASTERLIST

“Will I see you again?”

Jing Yuan walked around under the shed of the spring trees. He can no longer remember the first time he came here. If someone were to ask him, he wouldn’t be able to answer. All he remembers is the changing of the leaves on the trees, and the times he’s come recently… And the times he’s been here with you.

He doesn’t have a purpose for coming here anymore. He was convinced years ago that this was just a waste of his time, and yet he found himself returning here more than he wanted to. Since he was already there… Might as well take a nap under a tree or walk around to pass the time. As much as Jing Yuan would want to go back, he just felt that he needed to spend a few extra minutes there.  

Today was no different, walking around as the vibrant coloured leaves of the tall trees provided him shade from the blazing sun, the crinkling of the leaves under his shoes as he walked around. And then…

He saw you.

You looked just like he remembered. Curious eyes and a soft nature. That’s what drew him to you in the first place. Wasn’t it? 

Your eyes were currently glued to a book that you were reading, and Jing Yuan didn’t want to disturb you… But he really, really wanted to be friends with you. He subconsciously walked towards you, taking a seat beside you and asking, “What are you doing here alone? It might be dangerous here.” 

You looked up from your book to meet his gaze. “Ah! I know I shouldn’t, but… Everything here is so pretty, I want to write about everything I see here…” You trailed off. Your curious personality never left you, it seemed. He knew you all too well, always wandering into places you shouldn’t be, always bringing a sense of panic to him, always so comforting at the same time. 

“(Name)?” He mumbled from under his breath, not realising until his words reached his ears, and you had responded with confusion laced in your voice. “How do you know my name?” He snapped himself out of his head and responded to you, “You simply remind me of someone I knew.”

—

You had a weird dream the day you met him, and though your physical body was in bed, you felt like you were in the very place you had first encountered the man named Jing Yuan.

In the dream, instead of the vibrant colour of green the trees held, they had faded into a more brown and orangey colour, some falling from their branches onto the ground. You finally opened your eyes when a deep voice spoke. “(Name)!” That voice sounded familiar. Not because of the fact that you met this man a few days back, but because of something else…

You tried to greet him, only to find yourself unable to speak. You tried to lift your hand up, and found yourself unable to move. The only thing you were able to use were your eyes to look at him… Considering the person in your dream was already facing him in the first place.

Your eyes widened when Jing Yuan took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, then placed it on his cheek. “I’m sorry, were you waiting for me for too long?” You could hear a small laugh, one all too familiar to you. Did that voice belong to you? 

It only dawned on you that you weren’t in your own body then, it definitely didn’t… Although this person did share a name with you. “I didn’t. Don’t worry. I could never wait too long if it were you.” Jing Yuan smiled then. You saw… It was full of warmth, love and adoration held for the person you were in. 

You didn’t get to continue the dream. Your eyes had snapped open, and you were greeted with the darkness of your unlit room. You switched your lamp on, your hand reaching for your phone. You wanted to text him. This didn’t seem right. The way he knew your name, and him in your dream… You knew that dreams were weird. You’ve grown used to them in your years of living, but didn’t this seem like too much of a coincidence?

Maybe those were someone else’s memories. Those that didn’t belong to you.

Over the months, you’ve also noticed something. You’ve run into Jing Yuan more times than you could count, and because of that, your bond with him has also grown closer. Much, much closer. 

One night, while sitting with him, you told him that you wanted to leave the Xianzhou Luofu. You wanted to see the stars and galaxies… You wanted to see everything. You didn’t realise that Jing Yuan’s hand had intertwined yours. 

Oh, he knew this feeling too well. You were going to leave him… Again. 

For centuries he had met you and your reincarnations, and he fell in love with you every single time, even though he learnt that you were going to leave him in every life you lived in one way or another. 

Now, Jing Yuan had finally found you again… And you were going to leave him, this time by travelling. Yet, he kept a smile on his face because all the yous he’s met loved it so, so much. He can still remember when you looked at him tiredly centuries ago and told him to smile for you… Told him you loved his smile…

You smiled at the sight of his hand in yours, and the slight tightening of his grip. He didn’t want to let you go. 

“Are you going to come back?” You hesitated to answer him, only lifting your head to look at him for a while. “No, I’m sorry. I might not come back.” Jing Yuan used his free hand to cup your cheek, and whispered, “I’ll wait for you, don’t worry.” 

After all, it was worth the wait if it were you.

One year, one decade, and without much feel, another century had passed without you by his side. He’s seen the development of the Xianzhou Luofu, and currently, it was afternoon. He wasn’t planning on going out today, but he needed to go outside for a while to get something for Yanqing.

He locked the door of his home and looked up to begin his walk, and then… He saw you. Jing Yuan was momentarily stunned. He didn’t exactly expect this, but who was he to complain?

Your voice had broken him out of his trance once again. “Hello! You must be Jing Yuan, right? I’m your new neighbour, (Name). Nice to meet you.” You walked up to him and held your hand out, and Jing Yuan shook your hand, feeling the familiar warmth of your hand envelop his. 

It seemed that the cycle was about to repeat again, and you’d leave him again one day… but until then, he’d savour every moment he could have with you, and even if you left him… He didn’t mind waiting. 

Years ago, you had waited for him, and it meant everything to him. Now, he’d wait for you, even if he had to do it hundreds of times more… He wouldn’t mind, because if it were for you…

It was always going to be worth it to see you again.

RBs + Follows appreciated <3

[mama-qwerty]

WIP Wednesday

Yes, I forgot, AGAIN.

Today's wip isn't necessarily a wip as in I'm actively working on it now, but something I wrote a while back that I'll likely never finish. It was my first time playing with Scarlett and Dread and I hadn't ironed out all the details on them yet. (Scarlett's species in this one is left to the reader's imagination, as I'd not quite hammered it down yet, and they'd shared a *ahem* romantic relationship. Referenced but not shown.)

Mostly I wanted to make Dread a jerk.

Rated T, I guess? I dunno.

~~~~~

Dread smiled at her, but the smile was sharp and mean, like the look in his eyes. It wasn’t a look she was used to seeing directed at her.

“I’m afraid I’ve grown bored with you, Scarlett,” he said with a shrug, turning away to stand with his arms crossed. “It was fun, but it’s over.”

Scarlett stood, her brows furrowed. “Bored with me? What are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “I just can’t keep up with the charade any longer.” He turned back, that insufferable smirk on his lips. “Pretending to care about you is so exhausting. It no longer interests me to keep it up.”

Icy shards stabbed into her heart, and Scarlett worked very, very hard to keep the tears that threatened from appearing. Dread loved seeing weakness in others, and she did not want to give him that satisfaction. “Pretending to care.”

“Oh, you were a good lay, one of the better whores I’ve had, but the upkeep is so tedious.”

That word was like a knife to her heart. Scarlett had never laid with a man for money, and she prided herself on being better than that. Dread knew that, which was probably why he used that word to begin with. “I am NO whore.”

He laughed a little harder, shaking his head. “Of course you are. Only instead of coin, your pay is pretty little words whispered in your ear.” Dread stepped closer, a look of pure malevolence on his face. “You’re beautiful, Scarlett. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Scarlett. I would be nothing without you, Scarlett.” He stopped close to her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Scarlett.” He pulled back and laughed again. “Had I known how easy it was to bed you I would have done it a long time ago!”

Hurt and anger were sparring it out within Scarlett, and she let anger win. A deep, fiery rage built within her. How dare he. How dare this echidna stand here and laugh at her, betray her trust, and call her a whore. She wanted to scream at him, attack him, hurt him like he had hurt her.

But she stayed calm. Her face stayed stony neutral, betraying none of these feelings. She stared at him, her ocean blue eyes boring into his violet. The ones she used to love so much, but now wanted to gouge out of his sockets with her own hands.

She and Dread had been lovers for the better part of a year. It had taken time to build to that, as she had trouble trusting and lowering the defensive walls around her heart. But he had been persistent, and finally won her over.

And now it would seem it had all been a game to him.

The walls went back up. And Scarlett shut down.

“It’s a pity, really,” Dread said as he reached forward and caressed her head. “I always loved running my fingers through your hair.”

Without thinking, Scarlett pulled her little dagger from her belt. Dread drew back, his hand going for his cutlass, but before he could draw it, she grabbed her long braid and sliced off the last four inches. Her eyes never left his.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, her voice flat as she slapped the cut braid into Dread’s palm. “I have duties to attend to.”

And with that, Scarlett turned on her heel and stalked out of the captain’s study, back straight and head held high.

Dread watched her go, an honest look of pure shock on his face.

~X~X~X~

A week later, and Dread sat at the helm of the Angel’s Voyage, looking out over the sea. A soft breeze blew over the water, and the sun touched the horizon, turning the sky and ocean lovely shades of pinks and oranges and purples.

The crew lounged on the main deck below him, a rare night when all chores were done, and there were no pressing matters to attend to. The lot sat near the bow, chatting and sharing a bottle of rum between them.

His eyes kept wandering back to Scarlett. His first mate.

And the ache that had appeared in his chest a week ago gave a squeeze.

He was the great, legendary Captain Dread. Most feared pirate on the seven seas. Ruthless and cutthroat. He would kill without a second thought.

But the idea of being in love scared the piss out of him.

Which is why he had said those things to Scarlett. Those awful, terrible things. Things he knew had to have hurt her. She may not have shown it, but he knew. Every word was calculated, chosen to deliver the maximum amount of pain.

Because he was afraid of his feelings for her. Afraid they made him weak.

So he had to cut them out. Cut her out.

He thought it would be easy. Push her away from him and these weak feelings would go away. He’d feel like himself again. Be the fierce captain everyone feared and respected again.

But that’s not the way it worked.

When she’d walked out of his study that night, a pit had appeared in his chest. It was hollow, and empty, and felt like a wound that refused to heal.

And every time he looked at her, it got worse.

He contemplated kicking her off the ship entirely. Letting her go the next time they made port somewhere. But the thought, the mere idea that she would be completely out of his life made that pit in his chest feel like a gaping hole. His heart had hammered like a war drum, his chest tightening, and he felt for all the world as though he were dying.

Just at the thought of Scarlett leaving.

He didn’t like this. Didn’t like feeling like this. He had ended things with her to keep himself from feeling like this. But everything had gone wrong and now he felt as though part of him were missing.

Dread watched from his vantage point as the crew chatted. As they laughed. As she laughed. Her shorter hair barely brushed her shoulders now, and she pulled it back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her way as she worked. It bobbed and swung with every movement of her head, and that ache in his chest flared.

He missed the long braid. It had hung down to the middle of her back, and she would sometimes pull it over her shoulder to squeeze if she was feeling particularly stressed. But it was gone, sliced off that night a week ago. He still couldn’t believe she’d done that. Just chopped it without a second thought, and slapped it into his hand. A parting gift, he supposed. A physical representation of how she cut him out of her life.

He’d kept it. After the shock wore off, he’d sat and stared at that length of hair for a long time. Then he carefully brushed and re-braided it, tying the loose end with a little strip of leather from his own quills. It now sat in the drawer of his night stand, carefully wrapped in a silk scarf.

Truth be told, it was soothing. The soft texture, the lingering scent of her skin and soap. He sometimes found himself just sitting and holding it, stroking it with a thumb. Thinking of her.

She was beautiful. She was fierce. She was stubborn and kind and infuriating and smart and insecure and clever and funny and brave and . . .

And now, she sat on the deck, patches of color burning high on her cheeks as she drank and laughed, and a soft smile spread on Dread’s lips as he watched her.

Memories surfaced. The two of them sitting on the deck, late at night, talking about nothing in particular and watching the stars move overhead. The look in her eyes as she gave him all of her attention and made him feel like the center of her world. The sound of her laugh as she let loose one that was loud and free and completely unhindered by any feelings of self-consciousness.

The feel of her hands on his muzzle, caressing him as she spoke softly into his ear. Her softness when she hugged him, her scent filling his nostrils. And when they made love, and the rest of the world melted away the moment he was in her arms.

He loved her.

He shouldn’t.

But he did.

And it scared him.

Her laugh broke him from his thoughts, and he flicked his eyes down to her. She leaned against their navigator, Liam Parker, as her laughter filled the air. Her eyes were closed tightly, and the patches of color on her cheeks turned darker as she blushed.

A flash of jealousy flared through Dread, and he swallowed. She used to laugh like that with him. Used to lean on him like that.

Now she shook her head, pointing at Batten Rouge. The bat snickered and waved a hand toward Scarlett, and Dread listened hard to pick out their conversation.

“. . . not how that happened, and you know it, Batten!” Scarlett said, her voice like the sweetest bell in Dread’s ear. “I did not start a war between ships!”

“I said ALMOST, sweetie!” Batten responded, a little laugh in her voice. “That was before Sails joined the crew, and I’m sure he’d love to hear it.”

Sails was the little two-tailed fox who’d come aboard a few months ago. Ironically, that was Scarlett’s doing. She had a ‘good feeling’ about the boy, even though he couldn’t have been more than 12 years old.

Now the fox turned with a smile to Scarlett, seemingly interested in the tale.

“Ugh, fine!” Scarlett groaned, before turning to the boy. “This was about four or five years ago, when we were at the port at West Island. Some big guy offered me a drink and, you know, free booze, so I accepted. We chatted a bit, before he started to get, shall we say, handsy, and I, being the polite lady I am, asked him to remove said hand from my leg. He refused, so I decked him.”

Laughter erupted at this revelation, and Dread smiled. He remembered that. Scarlett was usually good with people—she could read them like no other he’s ever known—and her wit usually kept her out of trouble. But when her ire was up, when she let her temper out, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Batten leaned forward. “Only it turns out Mr. Handsy was the first mate of the Black Pearl! Their whole crew surrounded us and wanted Scar’s head on a pike for ‘disrespecting’ him. Cap’n Dread had to get involved to keep them from tying her to their anchor and dragging her along the bottom!”

He remembered that, too. It wasn’t unusual for crews of rival ships to get into skirmishes, and in most cases he liked to let them handle it amongst themselves. But that night, he’d raced down to the pub and positioned himself between the rival crew and Scarlett. That was before they entered a romantic relationship, but even then, he felt unusually protective of her.

Dread watched as Scarlett’s laugh died at Batten’s retelling. The color was still high on her cheeks, and she flicked her eyes up toward him. His heart nearly stopped as their gaze locked.

The smile dropped from his lips, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Scarlett blinked first, tearing her eyes away as she turned her head. She said something he couldn’t quite catch to the rest of them, and pushed herself up to hurry down to the crew cabins.

Dread’s heart clenched.

He turned to look out over the water again.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett stood in the captain’s study, her hands clasped behind her back. She was struck with a feeling of deja vu of that night a month ago, when he had ended their relationship.

Shattered her heart.

She’d done a good job of keeping herself under control while on the job. Staying professional when she had to deal with him, and never allowing her personal feelings to interfere. It was as if nothing had changed, as far as the crew knew.

But at night, it was a different story.

She cried herself to sleep most nights. His words—those hurtful, painful words—echoed in her head in the dark, and they still stung. They still cut through her and tore at her heart, ripping it to shreds as she lay there. And then she would fall asleep to carry through the next day, pretending she was okay.

The walls were back up now, and she regarded him as her captain. Nothing more.

“The crew would like to know when we plan to make port next,” she said, her voice even and polite. “Supplies are running low.”

Dread stood in a similar pose, his hands clasped behind him with his back to her, looking out the large window that faced out the back of the ship. He didn’t respond for a long moment, and Scarlett was going to repeat her question when he finally spoke.

“I hear you’re thinking of leaving.”

She wasn’t expecting the sudden lurch her heart gave.

“I have been considering it, yes.”

Another moment of silence.

“You’d abandon your ship? Your crew?”

“Neither are mine, Captain,” she said, and she almost slipped and let some snark into her voice. She pulled it back, and returned to the neutral tone. “I’m just the first mate. A ship can function without one.”

The echidna nodded, his back still to her. “That’s true, I suppose.”

Silence feel upon them again, and Scarlett’s heart began to race. She wasn’t sure what she felt so anxious about. They were done. He’d made that very clear. The things he’d said had very effectively killed any feelings she had for him.

But every time she looked at him, her heart twisted. She couldn’t stop thinking of the times they’d shared together. The long talks at night. The laughs. The love. He had made her feel like there was nothing else in this world he wanted but her.

And then he had crushed her heart beneath his boot.

She couldn’t stay here.

“Captain?” she called. “The supplies?”

Dread lowered his head, as if thinking. He still would not turn to her.

“I will take that under consideration.”

Scarlett’s brow furrowed. What was there to consider? Their supplies were running low. They needed to restock so they wouldn’t starve. He would have immediately charted the closest port at this news in the past.

There was only one reason he was stalling now.

“You’re not going to let me go.”

It wasn’t a question. Captain Dread was a man who kept what he wanted close. Almost obsessively so. And now, he still seemed to be possessive of her. Even though he didn’t want her anymore.

“Dismissed.”

For some reason, that single word answer squeezed her heart even tighter.

“Understood.”

Scarlett turned and walked out the door.

~X~X~X~

A month later.

Dread eventually did make port, but refused to allow Scarlett off the ship. He made up ‘important matters’ to discuss with her, and keep her occupied while the rest of the crew went to restock their supplies.

He was terrified if she left while in port, she’d never come back.

Their working relationship had devolved into nothing more than flat, toneless discussions, with none of the fire and energy they’d had before. There was no banter, no snarky back-and-forths. No joking. No life.

He was miserable. And despite her attempts to hide the fact, Scarlett was miserable, too.

Dread was barely sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her. Heard her. Felt her. His dreams were filled with her. In some they were still together, and the warmth of her against him made him cry in his sleep. In other dreams they were like now, strangers, avoiding each other and hurting all the while.

He often sat in his quarters, holding her cut braid for hours. Her scent was fading from it, and it hurt his heart to know that soon he would forget what she smelled like.

Agony. He was in agony.

But he couldn’t do anything to fix it. He’d hurt her too badly, too effectively. She hated him now, he could read her well enough to know that. And even if he decided that loving her was worth the risk, worth the pain and fear, there was no way she would agree to take him back. Not after what he had said. She wouldn’t trust him, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her.

So Dread moved through life, feeling like a hollow shell. His heart was broken, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Now the echidna stood at the helm, watching as a storm rolled toward them. Thunder echoed over the increasingly rougher water, and lightning flashed in the distance. He could alter course, but it was a big storm, dominating the entire sky, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid it. They’d just have to weather what they could.

Scarlett was on deck, readying the ship for the oncoming storm. Securing barrels and other supplies, checking the anchor, and keeping an eye on the dark clouds before them. But there was something about the look on her face Dread didn’t like.

She had an intuition about her, sometimes getting a bad feeling before trouble started. She had that look now.

“What do you feel, Scarlett?”

It was the first time he’d used her name since that night. It felt both foreign and like home on his tongue. She moved to the bow of the ship, looking out over the water, toward the storm. She shook her head, looking back at him.

“Something’s coming,” she said, her brow furrowed. “And it’s not the storm.”

Dread’s brow furrowed in response, and he stood taller, his senses on high alert. If Scarlett said something was coming, then they’d be ready.

“All hands on deck! Stay alert, crew. We won’t be surprised.”

Another five minutes passed, and nothing happened. Scarlett paced the deck like a caged lion, clenching and unclenching her hands in her agitation. Whatever was setting off her intuition, it must have been bad.

Dread wanted to go to her, to take her hands into his and calm her. But he resisted. She would not accept his comfort now.

Suddenly, she stopped in mid-pace, and hurried to the bow once again. She leaned over the rail, and for a split second Dread thought she was going to go tumbling over. Then she pulled herself back and turned to yell,

“KRAKEN!”

~X~X~X~

The ship rocked under the weight of the kraken’s tentacles. It reached from below, curling its long appendages over the railing of the Angel’s Voyage, searching for anything to drag down to its snapping beak.

The crew fought tirelessly. Krakens were unpredictable, but could sometimes be scared off if they received too much injury to their tentacles. So every available crew member hacked and slashed and bludgeoned the leathery hide of any they could get close to.

The storm hit as they continued to attack the monster currently trying to drag their ship to the bottom of the ocean. Thunder boomed overhead, and lightning flickered almost constantly. The Angel’s Voyage was under attack from both sky and sea.

Dread swung his cutlass in wide arcs, slicing at the closest tentacle of the undersea foe. A loud, low rumble of a growl reverberated all around the ship as the kraken gave voice to its displeasure at this reception. The massive tentacles smashed and splintered wood as they fell upon the ship.

Scarlett moved like a whirlwind, fighting the monster that threatened her ship, and working hard to keep the rest of the crew out of danger, especially Sails. She’d taken the boy under her care, watching over him as she taught him life on the open sea.

The beast thrashed, the crew fought, and the storm raged.

Finally, after an eternity of fifteen minutes, the kraken began to withdraw. One by one its giant tentacles slipped back over the side, into the churning water below. Only two remained on the deck, and the crew stood back to watch them vanish over the side.

That’s when a bolt of lightning struck the water nearby, and the kraken panicked.

One tentacle jerked at the sudden jolt, slamming across the deck and catching Scarlett in its path. It smashed her against the wall of the wheelhouse, knocking the air from her lungs and bringing stars to her vision as her head smacked against the wood.

“Scarlett!” Dread cried, and started working his way toward her when the tentacle curled around her legs, dragging her toward the rail as the beast descended into the ocean depths. “NO!”

She was hauled over the rail in a heartbeat.

Dread tossed his hat aside, clamped his cutlass between his teeth, and dove into the water a split second later.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett tried hard not to panic.

She hadn’t had a chance to get a good lungful of air before being hauled underwater. The kraken retreated deeper, away from the storm and pain it suffered on the water’s surface.

The light quickly faded the further down it dragged her, and she was soon plunged into complete darkness.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, fast and terrified. Her lungs burned. The cold water was making her numb. The tentacle wrapped around her legs squeezed tight.

She was going to die. Soon. There was no way she could get herself out of this. She had no weapon on her, and her muscles were not listening to her commands.

With one last prayer for her soul, sent up to whatever deity was listening, Scarlett closed her eyes, and exhaled what little air was left within her. Seawater rushed in to replace it.

Her body protested. It jerked and convulsed. And then was still.

~X~X~X~

Dread swam like a man possessed. His eyes reflected what low light there was underwater, and he watched as the kraken continued to dive deeper. Scarlett hung from its tentacle, her arms raised above her head as she trailed the beast.

Closer. He had to get closer. He swam faster.

He was going to save her. He had to. Had to. He would snatch her from this beast’s clutches and haul her back to the ship. She’ll be okay, and he’ll apologize, he’ll get down on his goddamn knees if he had to and beg her forgiveness. He can’t lose her, he just can’t, he couldn’t survive without her.

As he watched, Scarlett’s body jerked and convulsed.

No.

She went still. Limp.

NO.

With a burst of strength, Dread closed the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed onto the tentacle holding the redhead, and pulled his cutlass from his teeth. With one mighty swing, he sliced the tip of the tentacle clean through, releasing black ichor into the water around them. The severed tentacle clenched for a brief second, before relaxing completely.

Dread yanked her free from the dead flesh, and turned to swim for the surface. She hung in his arms like dead weight, and he fought back the panic that threatened to overtake him.

It was too late. He was too late. She was gone, he’d failed her, he’d lost her, she was dea—

The echidna pushed those thoughts away. He refused to believe it. He just needed to get her to the ship. That was what he focused on.

Dread pushed himself harder than he’d ever done before, and after a few more agonizing seconds, he breached the surface and gasped in a breath.

“She’s not breathing!” he called up to the rest of the crew. “Pull us up, NOW!”

Sails and Batten flew down immediately to haul their captain and first mate back on board. Dread tossed his sword to the side as he gently lay Scarlett flat on the deck. He leaned in to listen to her chest, and his brow furrowed when he didn’t hear anything.

“Catfish,” he called as he rolled her over and grabbed her from behind. “Bring blankets. Lots of them. Move!”

The large cat hurried off, as Dread clasped his hands together beneath her ribs. He gave a few sharp squeezes, in a desperate attempt to bring up the water she’d inhaled.

He fought his panic back. If he wasn’t focused, if he wasn’t careful, he could snap her ribs like toothpicks with his strength as he tried to save her.

The rest of the crew stood back, watching with wide, fearful eyes as Dread tried to revive Scarlett.

Precious seconds ticked by. Dread kept his jerky, sharp movements. Scarlett didn’t respond.

“C’mon, luv,” he hissed, and the icy tendrils of panic began to wrap their way into his mind. The longer this went on, the less likely she was to come back. His squeezes became more hurried. “C’mon. Bring it up. C’mon, luv. Please. Scar, please.”

Still nothing. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, her hair plastered to her face, her skin cold.

Dread’s lip pulled up in a pained grimace. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not like—

Her body jerked suddenly, a gurgling sound coming from her throat. She opened her mouth and vomited seawater out, splashing the deck with a horrible retching sound. Dread lowered her to her hands and knees, resting a hand on her back as she continued to hack and cough and spit out the water from her lungs and stomach.

“There ya go,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Get it all up. C’mon, luv. Breathe.”

She did. She pushed herself up, sitting back on her ankles and drew in a long, gasping breath as she opened her eyes. Another few coughs and she pulled in another breath, her chest heaving hard as her body shivered from the cold and shock.

Catfish had returned, his arms full of warm, wool blankets. Batten grabbed the first and draped it around Scarlett in a hurry.

“Let’s get you warmed up, sweetie,” she said, and grabbed another blanket to wrap around the shivering redhead. “We need to get her out of this storm.”

Dread moved in before anyone could say a word. “I’ll take her.” He scooped Scarlett into his arms in a bridal carry, looking over at Catfish. “Bring those to my cabin. The rest of you start getting the ship secured so we can weather the storm. I’ll be back quick as I can.”

The echidna carried the woman into his cabin, quickly laying her on his bed. Catfish dropped the pile of blankets on the edge of the bed before hurrying back to the deck to help the others. Dread pulled every blanket up and covered Scarlett with each one.

“Just rest, luv,” he said, his voice soft. He gently brushed her wet hair off her face, and resisted kissing her by sheer willpower. “You’re safe now.”

He didn’t want to leave her. He had barely avoided losing her just a few moments ago, and the thought of leaving her alone now made his heart clench.

But he was the captain, and he still needed to make sure the ship made it through this storm.

Without another word, Dread rushed back out to the deck.

~~~

And that's where I petered out. Mostly I just had these few scenes in my head and didn't know where to take it after that.

[melodyofhisheart]

body paint | alex turner (the car era).

brushes, a beautiful landscape, love and a sleeping boyfriend. (fluff <3) hii !! this is my first post is this fandom, i fell in love with the arctic monkeys years ago, but i changed my style of music in the meantime, however the love for this band and for alex came back as quickly as it left aha :) i hope you will enjoy reading this !

The brushes glided through her fingers with an almost hypnotic grace, as she passionately painted the changing shades of the Alpine mountains in the morning light outside her window. The sun was beginning to rise, illuminating the interior of their bedroom. Illuminating her boyfriend's naked upper body, asleep, wrapped in warm comforters. His skin looked like gold, highlighting the few moles that reigned on his muscular shoulders. His brown hair lay sumptuously on the pillow and his sleepy, rested face looked like an angel descended from heaven.

She concentrated on her canvas, letting the landscape inspire her as she captured every shade of green of the fir trees, every fold of the majestic mountains and every minute detail of the fields below.

Suddenly, a surge of overflowing affection seized her as she watched Alex's peaceful sleep. The feeling of love that invaded her was so intense that she couldn't resist expressing it creatively. She gently placed her brushes on the windowsill and approached the bed. Her heart pounding, she delicately picked up a small can of paint, chose a fine brush and gently dipped the bristles in the softest color she had. With extreme care, she began to trace light lines on Alex's arm, drawing delicate patterns that seemed to dance with the morning light.

Her gestures were gentle and confident, each one a silent declaration of her love for the man sleeping in front of her. She traced arabesques on his skin, drew patterns of leaves and flowers, as if infusing some of nature's beauty into her own living work of art. As she worked, a blissful smile came over Alex's face, as if he could feel the gentleness of her gestures even in his sleep. Words couldn't express how beautiful and special she found him, and she hoped this artistic touch would show him in a way that was unique to their deep connection.

When she had finished, she stood back to admire her work. The light patterns seemed to merge with Alex's skin, creating a living, ephemeral canvas. She let out a satisfied sigh, her heart overflowing with happiness.

Alex's eyelids fluttered gently, and he began to emerge slowly from his slumber. His sleepy gaze fell first on her, who stood there with a teasing smile. Then his gaze drifted to his own arm, where the delicate, colorful patterns were displayed. He squinted, blinking several times, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. A smile of wonder finally appeared on Alex's lips. His dark brown eyes sparkled with an amused, affectionate gleam. Gently, he raised his hand, watching the patterns unfold with his movements. Each line seemed to resonate with a hidden meaning, a secret language between them.

She stood there, captivated by Alex's reaction, her own heart racing. She had put so much of her love and affection into these designs, and to see his radiant smile was a reward in itself.

Finally, Alex laid eyes on her, and they shared a knowing glance, a silent exchange of deep feeling and sincere affection. Without saying a word, he reached out to her, inviting her to join him on the bed. She approached with a gentle smile and slid in beside him, finding refuge in his arms. They remained huddled together, losing themselves in the warmth and comfort of their embrace. Her fingers slid gently over his skin, following the lines of the paint, as they cuddled tenderly. The silence wasn't awkward, but rather comforting, as if they could understand each other's thoughts without the need for words. They shared sighs of happiness, hushed laughter, and exchanged gentle kisses, testifying to their mutual affection.

After a moment, Alex slowly rose from the bed, casting a sidelong glance at her who remained there with a mischievous smile. He headed for the bathroom to take a shower, but before closing the door behind him, he gave her a knowing wink.

When Alex returned from the shower, she was waiting for him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. They found themselves in each other's arms again, their lips instinctively searching for each other in a tender kiss. Alex's hands roamed gently over her back, and she snuggled closer to him. As they laughed and cuddled, the sun's rays came softly through the curtains, illuminating the room with a golden glow and Alex's face. She came to caress his cheek tenderly and said :

"There's still a trace of body paint on your leg, on your arm and on your face love..."

[boundinparchment]

Killing Loneliness

The night before Celestia falls, two people hold a conversation of the future.

Dottore/Original Female Character. Part of the Heretic and Forsaken series.

On AO3 here.

She should be happy. She survived Fontaine. Maybe not intact but she survived. Her new arm was lightweight, stronger than steel, and operated so seamlessly that she had to look to remember it was mechanical. No one looked at her with pity in the shadows of their eyes anymore.

And tomorrow, they would tear down the sky and Celestia along with it. The Fatui and the Traveler and the Third Descender, now whole, would declare war on the Usurpers.

Karina inhaled deeply and watched her exhale curl slow and steady in the lantern light. Behind her, she heard footsteps, distinct in their click as metal met stone; a rhythm and sound she heard a thousand times before. He was hardly a party person but he need not seek her company, she mused.

After all, he’d made it quite clear so long ago that this was…

Professional.

The sounds of raucous singing and cheering bled out into the still night for a moment before Dottore closed the door behind him. She didn’t even turn her head, eyes fixed on the ribbons of light in the sky, forever brighter than any lights in the capitol. Neither of them spoke and she appreciated that for once, he didn’t want to hear the sound of his own voice. Karina shifted her weight but kept her elbows on the balcony railing, shoulders tight.

If he was here for a pep talk, she didn’t want it.

Finally, she turned her head to him and asked, “Have you ever thought about what happens after?”

Dottore’s head was angled up slightly but she knew he wasn’t looking at the aurora. Celestia loomed on the horizon, visible only as a shadow over the reaches of Fontaine.

“Many times. Not all of them pleasant. It would be…unwise to pretend as though death has not been chasing me.”

She gave a small smirk and then looked back out over the city.

“I take it, then, you have not,” Dottore surmised.

Karina shook her head.

“I can plan all I want and strategize until my eyes bleed. It won’t matter until I’m out there. And by then, it’s down to me. Might as well be luck and thinking ahead has always gotten me…well,” she let out a derisive scoff, “it got me here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his weight shift; he stood straighter, poised like the scholar he proclaimed to be before a class of one.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Maybe not,” she replied. “I’ve done more in the last several years than I ever did in Fontaine. I wouldn’t have left the plateau otherwise, I’m certain. My family would be alive but my fate…I truly may as well have been chained to a rock and left for a sea monster.”

She was born under the Chained Maiden constellation and it never bothered her before. Not until the Archon Residue sang in her blood in that arena and she realized her Vision would never reawaken again. All because she forsook what Celestia intended for her.

In exchange, she paid the cost of her family’s lives and her dominant arm.

Was this better? Working for the Fatui, serving the man who almost killed her, potentially harboring feelings better left in a cabin deep in the mountains?

She had no idea.

“Say we survive whatever happens,” Karina asked. “Where would you go?”

“Beyond the veil is very tempting. I’ve studied these same unmoving stars for centuries and they bore me. There are other universes, other lands, more to uncover than is possible to visually fathom.”

For a moment, she wondered if his eyes were wide, eager even, beneath his mask. She missed his full face, saw it deep in her dreams, yearned to be special again just enough to see his true face.

“But I would be remiss if I did not stay and study the consequences of tomorrow,” Dottore admitted. “That would be leaving the experiment half-finished and for others to document. A skewed perspective.”

He drew in a deep breath and then gave a sigh so soft she only saw the rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Well, that’s lucky for me,” Karina replied. “I’ll need someone who knows to fix my arm and I wouldn’t trust a Fontainian engineer to touch it. You’d leave me with few options if you departed.”

“I might still. The fallout may not be as impactful as I’ve speculated. Stranger phenomena have certainly occurred.”

“Such as?”

His pause was unexpected. Dottore always took the chance to demonstrate just how much he knew of the world. Karina was familiar enough with his patterns to recognize that he was thinking over his next words carefully, chewing on them the way a discerning patron might consider a tender steak.

He turned his head towards her and felt her blood turn to ice and then thaw again when he removed his mask and stared at her. How did he do that, make her feel as though they were the only ones in the entire universe? Her heart hammered as her stomach did several twists and she wondered if she would even survive tonight.

There was a hunger written across his face deeper than a carnal desire.

“Such as the notion that if we survive at all, Karina, I find myself wondering what a quiet life looks like. Or rather, a settled life. What two people who shook off the chains of fate might be capable of and the legacy they’ll leave behind. Genetically and otherwise.”

He didn’t need to punctuate it with the missing piece. She could infer the rest and he knew she would.

“Is that such a bad thing?” she echoed.

Neither of them had a family. But they could be one, make one, couldn’t they? Did they balance each other out enough for that?

“Yet to be determined.”

“Describe it to me.”

“It would be more efficient to show you.”

He swallowed and she watched his throat bob slightly. She wanted to kiss that spot again, let her lips trace the shape of his neck, his jaw, his cheeks.

And she could not think of a world where she didn’t have his voice nearby. Where she turned and he wasn’t there.

A world without him wasn’t one she wanted.

Karina’s eyes flickered to his lips before she settled her gaze on his. She stepped closer and angled her head, lips ghosting over his.

“Then show me, Zandik,” she whispered, “what it means to live past tomorrow.”

[lightsovermonaco]

an: requests and comments always welcome!

wc: 1250

Summary: Pato surprises you by coming home for your anniversary. Fluff with a slight bit of suggestiveness at the end.

One full year. One full year of dating the most thoughtful, obnoxious, beautiful, annoying soul of a man. Three hundred and sixty five days of weird faces, suggestive Snapchat captions, and random phone calls. There's been less drama and more love than you could've ever dreamed. 

You wouldn't trade the past twelve months for anything in the world. 

Dating Pato hasn't been all puppies and rainbows- although Norbi had joined the two of you on a picnic once and you had seen multiple full rainbows. There's challenges, most of which stem from the constant distance and busy schedules. But one way or another, Pato always finds a way to make you feel like he's only in the next room instead of a few states away. 

Whether it be sending you flowers after you've ranted over text or facetiming you for thirty seconds to wish you a good morning, Pato does what he can. Sometimes it's overwhelming to have him away from home so long. There's days where you aren't sure how much longer you can go without holding him in your arms or feeling his stubbly cheeks beneath your fingertips. Pato must have a sixth sense for those things however, because he always seems to know and always gives you a little more love on the rough days. 

Tonight though, you've got the man all to yourself. The lottery drew your number.  You don't know what sacrifice he's made to the scheduling gods, but he's managed to come home for your anniversary just two days before a race. And the worst part? Pato hadn't given you any warning. You'd opened the door in your pajamas, expecting your door dash order instead of the whole package. 

Once you'd attacked him and thoroughly smattered his face with kisses, you'd worked up the courage to ask how long he'd be home. 

“It's only eight hours, I have a plane later tonight to catch back to Milwaukee. But I figured a few hours is better than seeing your face on a screen.” 

“It's so much better Pato,” you murmur and steal another kiss. You can't help it; you're addicted to him and have been in withdrawal for far too long. “I missed you so fucking much.” 

“Trust me, I missed you more.” Pato nudges your jaw with his nose. You understand his request and tip your head to give him full access to your neck, letting any thoughts of that very important work project that had to be finished this week float away on the breeze. 

If you only had eight hours with your man, you were going to make the most of them. 

“Upstairs,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his freshly styled hair. “Now, Pato.”

“Ma'am yes ma'am.”

**********

After spending a few hours wrapped up in each other, Pato had finally convinced you to go out to lunch with him. He'd picked your dress, a burnt orange satin number with thin straps and a slit up the leg that nearly went to your hip.

With Pato dressed in a charcoal quarter zip that's shamefully unzipped and his hair fluffed just how you like it, it's a miracle you've made it through the first course without jumping him. Because with that much of his neck on display and the proof of your earlier fun poking out from under the collar, it's taking every ounce of willpower to keep from dragging him out of this fancy restaurant and begging him to put some marks of his own on you. 

"My eyes are up here hermosa." 

"Hmm? Oh- no I know Pato, sorry! I just got distracted." Pato shifts to allow more skin to show. His smirk tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.

“I seem to distract you a lot don't I? Like before when I got home and you were working on that project…” Pato swipes his index finger through the pasta sauce on his plate and licks it clean. Thoughts swirl in your head like mist, though the only one that materializes is the memory of where those fingers had been an hour ago.

“Uh… sure…” 

“Not doing yourself much justice here, are you?” Pato tips his head, brown eyes warm and sparkling. “Good thing you're cute- you're not a very good conversation partner when your head is up on mars.”

“Well maybe if you wouldn't be so hot all the time,” you mumble, spearing pasta on your fork. “It would make my life a lot easier. Then maybe I could get through a meal without losing my train of thought.”

Pato's cute little dimples are on full display when he smiles. Your stomach does flips as if you're back in high school sitting across from your crush. It's crazy how he still has that effect on you now. You'd once worried that the spark would fade and you'd get bored of each other. Now though, you're positive that it's still as alive and hot as the day you met. 

“We both know you don't mean that. These,” Pato taps one of the bruises on his neck, “are proof that you love me just how I am.”

“Yeah well, all I'm saying is once in a while you could show me some mercy, you know? You c-could-” you stutter when Pato's hand meets your knee. Hidden under the table and exposed by the slit in your dress, his thumb moves over your smooth skin whilst his eyes remain trained on you. 

“Hermosa? Everything alright?” Pato smiles sweetly as his hand slides halfway up your thigh. Now you know why he asked for the tiniest table tucked away in the corner. Considering Pato's smug grin, his public torture is having the desired effect. 

“I'm- I'm fine Pato. Perfectly fine.” You clear your throat and shift in your seat so that you're out of his reach. For a split second, you feel guilty when Pato frowns. But instead of giving up, he ups the ante. Pato simply moves his own chair so that he can replace his hand exactly where it was. You should've known he wouldn't let you get away so easily; Pato isn't one to be deterred. 

“Actually,” you purr, laying your hand on his arm, “it would be better if you could let me finish eating in peace.”

“Mmm let me think about it.” Pato drums His fingers on your thigh and purses his lips. You both know the answer before the, “no,” leaves his lips. 

You huff and curl your fingers so your nails dig into his sweater. “This isn't fair Pato. I can't do anything to you, and you're set on torturing me.”

“I think the solution is simple.” When you stare at him blankly, Pato shrugs. “Finish your meal. The quicker you finish eating, the quicker we can get home, yeah?” Pato's wink is accompanied by a dip of his hand between your thighs, there and gone. As quick as it is, his touch is still enough to leave you scrambled. 

“Just pay the bill. I'm done eating.”

“But I ordered dessert-” 

“And I’ll be the dessert as long as you get me home in the next twenty minutes.” a mischievous glint dances in Pato’s eyes. His hand stays exactly where it is whilst the server retrieves the tab. Pato takes one look at it and leaves cash on the table, not bothering with change. 

Pato makes it home with three minutes to spare, and as promised, makes you his dessert.