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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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Scarlett Campbell had been an early bloomer---physically, anyway. And it had led to years of discomfort as the village boys had first taunted her, and then leered and made lewd suggestions and gestures to her, as they bloomed themselves and their hormomes informed them exactly what her full, womanly figure must be meant for. But under her Mam’s strict discipline, she had been taught to always fend off such dishonorable intentions---until a comely, wily lad, 14 years to her 15, had sweet talked his way past her defenses. He was as inexperienced as she. but together they had schooled one another in their rather amatuer craft of kissing...and the timeless thrill of petting.

When their afternoon forays into a secluded cove---which Scarlett had thought of as her secret place since childhood---were discovered, they had been both been roundly beaten (in her case, ‘twas Mam that wielded the strap; Scarlett had been certain that had her Father been around, he would have interceded on the side of mercy). After that, she was made to board at the convent school her father paid for, year-round, so to protect her from such ‘vile trespass’ (Mam’s words).

Jamie’s eyes had been grey as the sky above the sea in the hours before a heady storm strikes, and had haunted Scarlett’s dreams for some time, until she found another boy to love.

The convent school’s walls were high, but as she soon learned from the other girls, not impossible to circumvent, and so it was that she always had a local beaux or two to warm her heart---though they never lasted beyond a few months, for she was loathe to sacrifice that one treasure the sisters and Mam insisted was to be saved for the man she would wed.

Still, Scarlett managed to improve that craft to an art, had her heart broken more than a time or two, and even broke her own fair share (always unintentionally). She had spent her gap year exploring the finest museums Europe had to offer, indulging her love of all the arts, and honing her skills with private lessons in various disciplines. Her father had hired a social secretary to accompany her---effectively, a chaperone to safeguard his daughter’s virtue from predatory young men who might spot her (and her access to her father’s wealth) as an easy mark. No love affairs for Scarlett, until an extended stay in Mykonos, where she fell equally in love with the Mediteranean. This young man was a fledgling artist himself and took her for his Muse, and though they began with a language barrier, they managed to make themselves understood well enough---and thus she further refined what art she knew, until they had to part, still shy of the lovers they had so hoped to become.

Mam had fallen ill shortly before Scarlett’s return, and the dutiful daughter delayed University for two years, to see to her care and recouperation. Scarlett had little opportunity or inclination for romance in those days, only leaving home and village when necessary for her mother’s needs. And thus it was, at twenty-three, Scarlett reentered the world at large, woefully behind socially and mostly naive in the ways of the world when it comes to good, good girls. She had never kissed a real man, a man of years and knowledge and experience; the time of dallying with boys was long past, and she was stuck somewhere in the middle. Perhaps it was inevitable that the first mature, confident, worldy man that marked her as an exceptional creature, would both confuse and fascinate her...and leave her wanting more, even against her best judgement.

#ScarlettHeadCanon #Scarlett Campbell #damn--I love her so much already and she's practically writing herself

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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...she was an angel; a creature of light sent to pierce his black, black heart...

#my writing #Scarlett Campbell #ScarlettHeadCanon #an alternate storyline to the RP thing

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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a tantilizing preview...

"Oh my dear," he snickered, flashing her the white of his grin. "You are such an amusing little creature. Tell me, please, that you didn't really mean to imply that moi, " he tapped his chest with the flat of his hand, "Am somehow the man of your dreams! Tell me, darlin'...puh-lease...that that isn't what this naughty little adventure has been all about." Suddenly his eyes narrowed, and Scarlett caught a flash of his true ire, gone as quickly as it came, while his voice dropped to a near sinister depth, "Tell me you aren't trying to cast me as your own Heathcliff come across the Scottish moors to claim you, because you believe that I'm your destiny..."

Numbly, Scarlett shook her head, beginning to tremble a bit at the storm that seemed to be gathering upon his brow. "Tell me truly, girl--but know that I will not flinch from disabusing you of that foolish fantasy."

As far back as she could remember, Scarlett had both loved and feared the Sea--and so it was that much of the woman she was today had been shaped by those oppossing forces. Yes, she had known fear, paralyzing fear; fear that had given her night terrors in her youth, of Herculean storms that raged around her and massive waves that would come to bury her in the cold, cold depths. of merciless, deep sea beasties that would steal her away if she dared tread beyond shallow waters. Irrational fears, which always made her wonder at their source. The folklore of her people held that she likely bore some trace of blood from ancient fairy creaturess associated with the Sea--mermaids, sirens, or selkies. Of that, she could not say. But having known bone-deep, blood curdling fear over such grim imaginings, Scarlett was well braced to face causes of fear in the real world.

The man before her presented her with a true tempest in the flesh, his countenance grown dark, his voice edged with malice. She had heard rumors that this enigmatic man was capable of such lightening changes in mood and temperatment...and even whispers of more sinister proclivities. And as he stared her down, Scarlett was very conscious of her vulnerability--yet what fear she felt was less a physical one, and more for the implicit threat that he would permanently cut short that which they had barely begun.

And so she did the best she could, well aware that her greatest strengths in this situation were her softenss and pliability. She straightened her shoulders and shook back her hair, hoping that her small share of beauty might be enough to give his mounting fury pause; she lowered her eyes and drew a deep breath, then raised them up to regard him with her most feminine, appraising look. She held his gaze without speaking a word--and then with a shrug of her shoulders, a tilt of her head, a sheepish smile which she allowed to melt into a childlike pout, she conveyed her remorse for her ill-timed revelation. Though she still believed in her secret depths that Hennessy could very well be the promise she'd been waiting for, Scarlett hoped her little deception was enough to assuage a deceiver...

#my writing #Scarlett Cambell #Scarlett #ScarlettHeadCanon #her Selkie blood #OFC #an alternate storyline to the RP thing

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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The Nightmare

The nightmare began as a dream that was more like a memory. Scarlett hadn’t had such a nightmare since she’d left her home village at the age of eighteen, to travel the Continent during her gap year. In the five years since, her mind seldom strayed to those ancient memories (for don’t childhood memories seem ancient to us once we reach the age we believe marks our maturity?), but when it did, she never lingered on them long, ever grateful that that stage of her life was forever past.

The memory itself was one of her dearest. August in Mykonos, carefree days under unfailingly sunny skies, scorching white sand beaches, and the soothing turquoise waters of the blessed Mediterranean.

Those days had refreshed her soul in ways she had been too young to understand at the time, although she had begun to think of the Sea that surrounded that island as her fount of life. She had fallen in love with a young Greek godling—an Artist and Sculptor with graceful, talented hands, eyes of sea green, and a halo of thick, dark curls ever mussed from the kiss of the ocean’s gentle breeze. Benedicktos. A name that translated as both ‘well-spoken’ and ‘blessing’–--and that was exactly what he had been to Scarlett. The sweetest blessing she had known in her young life.

She had fallen in love with Benedicktos---her Bene, as she came to call him---within hours of meeting him, swept up in the sort of chemistry that so often seems to visit the young and beautiful in exotic locales far from home. And in his company, she had fallen equally in love with the Mediterranean Sea, it’s peoples, and its culture. He spoke more English than she spoke Greek, but they both spoke the language of beauty, as true Artists are so often wont to do. Yet lack of common language was no real impediment to communication, and they had quickly learned other ways to make do.

Scarlett eventually came to trust her Bene enough to brave several afternoons sailing in his cousins modest fishing boat, venturing the furthest from any shore that she had in her life. Her childhood fears of unnamable sea creatures lurking beneath the surface, waiting to drag her down to their secret lairs, found no footing in the crystal clarity of the warm Mediterranean. At last, she had found a place of unqualified peace with the Sea.

But, of course, summer romances are usually brief, and thus was it so for Scarlett Campbell and her beloved Benedicktos. Yet the sweet warmth of her memories saw her through the chill and damp of two Scottish winters as she nursed her mother back to health, while she dreamed of the day she would find herself in gentler, balmy climes once again.

She had found that and more in this secluded bit of Caribbean paradise, and heat beyond any she had experienced with Benedicktos. Hennessy had taken her like a relentless sea storm, as lover and teacher and wickedly debauched scoundrel, thoroughly wrecking her innocence and awakening a woman’s full passion, which had been too long banked and waiting to break forth. They had come to an unspoken arrangement of sorts—from her point of view, at least—since that first Friday when he had brought her to his secluded estate, for what he had intended as only a single night’s encounter…but it had frankly been too carnally delicious for him to release her until dawn’s light on the following Monday morning.

This pattern held true for the next three weekends. Scarlett was well aware that he had numerous lovers; he had been unabashedly forthcoming about his appetites, and she knew damn well she could not satisfy them all. During the week, she was merely his student, sitting front of class and working hard—and trying her best not to think too much about who he’d be doing in his free time. It never occurred to her once to take another lover on the side to warm her own bed on those nights, for Scarlett was forever made to love a single man at a time. As the minutes of her Friday morning class ticked away, her heart would begin to thump harder, with the hope that he would look her way and instruct her to remain behind once the other students had left the classroom, and finally issue the invitation both her heart and her body had come to crave. She had not allowed herself to consider how devastated she would be on the day no such invitation came.

This Saturday night, she had fallen asleep, sweat soaked and sated, curled against her lover, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. And somehow her mind had taken her back to the white sands of Mykonos, where she stood with her feet in the gentle surf, looking out at the sea, wondering when her Bene would return to her, before realizing that he was long gone from her life, and there were other shores to look to and to love.

And thus the scene had changed, and she stood barefoot atop a sand dune, the tall grass swaying in the light breeze, brushing against the bare skin of her calves. All seemed well; the private beach held a score of people, sunning themselves, laughing, flirting, enjoying the kiss of the sun on their skin, while a few others splashed and frolicked in the shallow water. This is our place, she thought, recognizing the area where Hennessy had first squired her, seduced her, and then began her education in eroticism. Scarlett’s dream self had felt a pleasant ache between her legs at that thought, remembering how he had touched her that night, repeatedly wringing his name from her lips as she came again and again by the skill of his hands alone.

Several miles away, across the ocean’s surface, she saw that ominous thunderheads had suddenly gathered, and the whisper of breeze coming off the water had begun to rise in force. Swimmers were now abandoning the water, while the sunbathers were gathering their things to make a quick retreat before the storm arrived on shore. She could make out flashes of lightening in the roiling clouds, followed by thunderclaps that grew louder by the moment. Suddenly—and much too late—Scarlett was remembering the fears of her childhood, of a hungry sea set on grabbing her and pulling her under its merciless waters.

She looked around, and all the people had just vanished, leaving her to face the coming storm alone. Move…move now, she whispered as panic began to take hold of her senses. She tried to turn, hoping to reach beyond the shelter of the line of palm trees at her back, yards and yards away—and found her feet were rooted on the spot, the sea grass tangled about her legs and cruelly holding tight. The white capped waves had grown beyond any proportion she had ever seen, the wind howled and tore at her exposed skin, violently whipping her hair about her head. In mortal dread, Scarlett realized there would be no escaping this storm.

Frozen in place, helpless to save herself or even call for help if there were even anyone to hear her, she watched a towering wave take shape, the darkness of its water impenetrable—though she easily imagined the beasts that must cruise its deadly depths, as it came crashing onto shore. It did not break, as waves should, not one whit; instead it maintained its shape until it swirled around her like a maelstrom. She was crying out in fear, while the sea spray filled her lungs, but the fury of the water drowned out all sound but its own, and soon it would be drowning her, just as she had always feared. Her tears were useless, impotent; there would be no mercy, just a cold, lonely, useless, watery death. Scarlett closed her eyes as the first tendrils of icy water wrapped themselves around her limbs; she tried her utmost to make her final thoughts be those of warmth and love and all the small beauties she had gathered to her heart over the years, but still the terror took control and she thrashed as one driven mad, her cries for mercy unintelligible, as the Sea finally claimed her just as she had always known that it would…

(to be continued)

#my writing #Scarlett #Scarlett Campbell #her Selkie blood #ScarlettHeadCanon #an alternate storyline to the RP thing

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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what came before...

Scarlett Campbell’s relationship with the Sea was deep and complicated--and a true study in contradiction. From her earliest memories, she was drawn to it’s edge, gleefully splashing barefoot in it’s foam, while collecting shells to carry home and lay upon her beside table to gaze at until she drifted off to sleep. Building elaborate sand castles at low tide, and when the water rose again to wash it all away, clapping in pure delight from believing that she’d given the Sea a fine, fine gift. Bringing her doldrums and doubts to Mother Ocean, her insecurities about her changing body and what her future may hold, and the inevitable heartbreaks that came with the first buds of love left unrequited. The Sea was Scarlett’s most constant companion, never turning her away because it’s didn’t have the time to entertain her childish whimsies, or to debate her growing skeptism towards the religion her Mam insisted was the only true way to live.

Yes, Scarlett adored the Sea, her home from home, and harbor dear Her heart was full of love for it’s beauty, it’s immensity, and the way sunlight and moonlight---most especially moonlight---danced on it ripples and quieter waves.

She had always been a very good swimmer, for as a child she took to water like an otter...except, then as now, she never, ever ventured deep.

For the Sea that she so loved also filled her with irrational fear, which---as she grew from child to adolescent---she realized had no basis in her experiences. Scarlett eventually learned to camoflauge that fear, to distract others and keep them from taking note---for what if they should ask her to explain? She couldn’t even understand it herself. Though she had never ventured more than twenty feet from shore, she feared the ocean's depths and darkness and the fury of its storms. She imagined the creatures of myth and legend, lurking far below the surface, certain if she strayed beyond her limit, they would drag her down to a watery end. And her worst nightmares always featured her lost at sea, amidst towering swells. Sometimes in a sort of coracle, sometimes clinging to the wooden wreckage of a larger boat, sometimes just in the water, afloat and trying to stay above the surface. Oh, how she feared to go below the surface, terrified more for her soul, than for her life. The only grace she had when such dreams visited her, was to pull herself awake before the water closed over her completely.

If her father hadn’t been so in name only (he deserted his little family when Scarlett was toddler, off to seek his fortune in the wider world) he might have been around to notice his pretty daughter’s dread fascination with the Sea. And he might have passed along bedtime stories---out of earshot of his santimonious wife, of course---that the Campbell bloodline traced back hundreds of years to the union of a fisherman and a Selkie. He would have told her of the fair maid who’d shed her sealskin for love of a dark-haired, lonely fisherman; a man whose voice was deep and rich enough for his sea-songs to lure the bonnie creature from her home and sisters. That same Campbell loved his lady wife true and gave her the name Merauda (for she was of the sea), as well as five strong sons---but to her grief, no daughters, before he was lost at sea with his two eldest boys, one fierce autumn storm. Merauda mourned her husband and sons greatly, and eventually laid hersellf on the sands and wasted away so that nothing was left of her but her cries, which are echoed in the sound of the gulls today. Scarlett would have listened wide-eyed and wondering---and likely, as precocious as she was, would have asked her papa if she could wear a sealskin too someday. And he would’ve winked and told her that only time would tell.

But unknowing of these things, Scarlett Campbell could only maintain that she loved and feared the Sea her whole life through. That she eventually found herself attending an exclusive school on a tropical island, thanks to her father’s fortune, was an irony that had yet to grow old for her.

That her heart was soon drawn to a Man with unbreakable bonds to the Sea, should not have surprised her at all.

tagging under cut

@traveledoceansoftime2 @thehiddenlawyer @letterstosherlock @strangelock221b @humanbornarchangel @ben-locked

#ScarlettHeadCanon #my creative juices flow #my writing #this...was...fun!

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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The Nightmare, part two [continued from]

Hennessy was aware of Scarlett’s cries before her frenzied writhing at his side brought him to full consciousness, for they had somehow insinuated themselves into the dream he’d been having---as though they were the call of the seagulls that rode the ocean breeze above, while he swam just beyond the shallows off his private beach. Eyes snapping open, he was disappointed to leave that dream behind, but only until he understood that his delicious little lover was in the grip of a powerful night terror.

She was tangled up in the dampened sheet, her skin feverish and slick at every point of contact between them, as he searched his memory for the best way to proceed. Hennessy seemed to recall the wisest advice was not to wake the sleeper; that the terror would subside on its own soon enough, and that the victim would eventually settle into some sort of quieter, gentler sleep. But her panicked moans and pained flailing begged for a better remedy than that—even before she began to cry out in her native brogue, so thick as to be nearly unintelligible. How could he not seek to wake her and give her the comfort she needed? And what could cause her sweet, guileless spirit to suffer such an assault by her subconscious?

He caught her in his arms, trying to hold on firmly, while still giving her body leeway enough to move without bringing harm to herself. “Sssssshhhhhhsssss,” he crooned, kissing her brow several times, with a tenderness he hoped might assuage whatever had awoken such terror, “I’ve got you, darling, and I’m not letting go…” Come back to me, he silently commanded, repeating his placations like a mantra, as her body began to slowly still in his arms. Now she was weeping while babbling incoherently, and then she began to cough and gasp for air. Hennessy pulled her into a sitting position, thinking to give her better room to draw fuller breaths. “Scarlett…baby…breathe…you’ve got to breathe…”

Her eyes flew open and the look of terror within them nearly froze him in place—until she blinked several times before finally recognizing him. “That’s right, darling…whatever it was, isn’t real…it was just a horrible dream, but you’re safe here with me, I swear it…”

Scarlett seemed to nod in understanding, but within moments she had turned away. Propped up on her hands over the edge of the bed, she began to retch violently. Once, twice, and then a third time, each spasm followed by the unmistakable splash of water hitting the Persian rug, before she collapsed onto the mattress in a sobbing heap. The moonlight streaming through the transom window above the French doors out to his balcony, painted her fair, unblemished skin an even whiter shade of pale, but Hennessy didn’t need that illumination to know what lay puddled bedside. Seawater. Caribbean seawater, judging by the tang of concentrated salt in the air. How in bloody hell was that even possible?

She had buried her face in her arms, muffling her sobs, while her slender form shivered in the aftermath of dreaming terror and waking nightmare. As black hearted as he knew himself to be, Hennessy was not a man immune to the suffering of others, and the sight of his most gentle, loving little naiad in such pitiful duress stirred a mercy and a tenderness within his breast unlike any he had felt for anyone in countless years. In the sunlight of the coming day, he might rue such softness, but in the secret, velvet dark, his first impulse was to comfort and console.

And so he reached for her, shocked when she flinched at first, beneath the quiet touch of his hands. He knew well that she was not necessarily reacting to him, knew instinctively that this was not some response conjured by the times their play had gotten rough; indeed, Scarlett had yet to experience his darker depths, those hungers he visited only upon those who eagerly sought them out. No, her mind must still be snarled with the nightmare world that had terrified her so---and surely some dark magic other than his own had created a spell enough for her to have taken in a belly full of seawater here on dry land.

“There now,” he husked in his gentlest voice, “You’ve been dreaming badly, love, but there’s nothing here that will hurt you… I promise.” She gave a deep, tremulous sigh, nodding as she moved into his arms and compliantly laid her head against her shoulder. “That’s right, little lamb…you are under my protection now, and I will not abide anything that seeks to hurt you. Or to frighten you. Or even dares to make you weep.” He smoothed his clever fingers through her hair, noting her breathing had become less harried and she had ceased her trembling.

Scarlett slid her arm around his neck as possessively---he supposed---as she was capable of, and nuzzled her tear stained cheek against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “…so very, very sorry…”

“Whatever for,” he scoffed lightly, resting his lips in the halo of her hair, feeling them purse as he tried not to smile too much. She really was one of the dearest creatures he had ever known. “One cannot control the contents of one’s dreams, Scarlett---and except for what you just suffered yourself…and a little lost sleep for the both of us---no harm has been done that can’t be remedied.”

“But…but your rug,” she countered, and he heard well her plea for forgiveness between the lines.

“Ah, well---that is something within my power to fix. Easily, dear, and without a bit of fuss.”

She raised her head to look at him, a wee bit skeptical, and very wide-eyed, “Really?”

Now he just had to give her an indulgent smile. He urged her onto her side, so that he was spooning her, snug against his chest. Hennessy had already shown her bits and bobs of his power over the elements, and she had come to delight in some of his most naughty, delicious tricks. This one was sure to impress her further, while relieving her concern of the damage she’d done to his expensive Persian rug. “Now watch,” he commanded her, kissing her temple as he stretched his hand towards the far side of the bed. “This is as easy as any of my lesser spells…and as easy as the sins you’ve learned at my behest,” he teased her, and was rewarded with a perfect little snuggle of her bare bottom against his pelvis. Oh my, now that’s the spirit, little lamb, he thought wickedly, imagining that sleep was going to have to wait a good while more before either of them succumbed to it again. With a practiced flick of his hand, there was a long hiss as the water soaking the carpet tuned to vapor and rose into the air, before it evaporated.

As ever, Scarlett gave a sound of pleasant surprise. Pleased that her spirit had lightened, Hennessy rolled her onto her back, and rose above her, liking the mischief which---having dismissed her tears---now filled her doe-eyes. Her trust in him was palpable, and as delicious as ever; she was happy to be his plaything, ever-willing to acquiesce to wherever his cravings took them---and even the darkness that had violently disturbed her could not eclipse the deep desire he roused in her young, nubile body. And in her heart, he reminded himself; that’s where the greatest danger for her lays. Come morning, they would need to discuss and puzzle out the nightmare that had possessed his little lamb so thoroughly that it caused that frightening physical manifestation. For now though, he would be the lover and comfort---and the quite unwitting shelter---which she had come to need.

#my writing #Scarlett Campbell #her Selkie blood #an alternate storyline to the RP thing #Scarlett #ScarlettHeadCanon

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