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megalony · 10 months

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Just Her

This is my first Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) imagine, I hope everyone will enjoy it. Feedback, comments and requests are always amazing.

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Masterlist

Summary: When attending a charity event, (Y/n) suddenly takes a turn for the worst and Tommy has to take care of his wife.

Enjoy.

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The soft, lulling music hit (Y/n) as soon as they walked through the doors, blended with the voices of others arriving and mingling together.

Charity events weren't the kind of thing (Y/n) enjoyed. There were too many people keeping up false pretences, fake smiles and chatter that could melt anyone's ears off. And the Blinders didn't have the best track record because wherever they went, bad things happened.

With Tommy's arm secured around her waist and her body tucked safely into his side, (Y/n) could feel the gun strapped into his holster at the side of his chest. A safety measure he never went anywhere without and it was something (Y/n) now found strangely comforting, just like the smell of his cigarettes and the sound of his voice whispering in her ear.

"Shall we get a drink?" (Y/n) leaned her head on Tommy's shoulder as Arthur and John walked past them and dispersed into the large hall, mingling and searching for Ada and Polly who were already here somewhere.

"Sure."

It felt strange to (Y/n) to see Tommy wearing a smart suit like this, it wasn't the kind he would normally wear when he walked the streets or sat in the office keeping books. It wasn't grey or tweed material and he didn't have a tie or a cap sitting on his head.

His hair was slicked to the side, unruffled by a hat he had left at home, his jet black trousers were up past his hips over the white button up shirt and he had a black blazer snug over his biceps. The look would have been perfected if Tommy bothered to wear a bow tie or even his usual tie but he didn't bother tonight. His look was a mix of smart and casual and it only made him more appealing to (Y/n).

With a drink in hand, (Y/n) took a large gulp before she glanced around the room. She could see Ada far across the other side, chatting to a gentleman in a snappy suit and Arthur had wandered off near the buffet, cigarette clasped in his lips.

(Y/n) wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the Shelby clan because she knew Tommy would wander off to talk to business associates soon and she never accompanied him to those chats. Tommy liked to keep his wife as far away from the business as possible, he would introduce her and show her off but when talk started on the darker side of his work, (Y/n) excused herself. So she wouldn't be alone, uneasy and anxious, (Y/n) would stick with other members of the family until Tommy came back to find her.

"We won't stay long," As if he could read her mind, Tommy whispered the words into the top of her hair and squeezed the hand that was wrapped around her hip. "Are you okay if I go speak to someone?"

"Yeah, I'll go speak to Ada for a bit." She suddenly felt lonely when Tommy's body left her side leaving her cold and insecure without him beside her.

When Tommy drifted, (Y/n) finished the drink in her glass and slowly walked between the tables, over to where Ada was now standing next to Polly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) could feel her foot beginning to tap against the polished floor the longer she stood away from Tommy, waiting for him to come back again. It wasn't the same kind of unease that she felt whenever he was out of town or when he didn't come home until the early hours of the morning. That was a sense of panic that came with the thoughts and insatiable panic that something had happened to her husband.

The unease she felt now was because she was at a big event that was fuelling her panic and she didn't have her natural remedy next to her to calm her down; Tommy.

Events like this made (Y/n) so panicked she ended up leaving early. There was always an enemy hanging around every corner and if a fight broke out, a panic attack would follow. (Y/n) loved the bones of Tommy and his family and it didn't bother her as much as it should what he did for work but (Y/n) didn't want to witness it.

With as much of a smile as she could muster, (Y/n) excused herself from the two women she had been spending the last half an hour with and placed her empty glass down on the table before she wandered near the dance floor. Her eyes had kept tabs on her husband for a while, keeping him in sight so when she got too nervous on her own, she could easily find and approach him.

Swiping her hand against her forehead, (Y/n) took a deep breath and tried to control the panic in her system that was making her sweat and made the room feel like it was heating up.

The smile on Tommy's face when he saw her made adrenaline spark in (Y/n)'s stomach and it eased the panic welling in her chest. He had a glass in one hand and his other hand stuffed into the pocket of his trousers but when she came within reach, his arm was already wound around her waist, reeling her into his side where she belonged.

"Gentlemen, this is my wife." Tommy pressed a kiss to (Y/n)'s cheek that he noticed was a bit flushed and he could see a sheen of sweat glistening on her exposed skin in the bright lights. Dipping his head down, Tommy raised a brow, silently asking if she was alright but her smile eased the rising concern he felt. He liked the way (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his chest beneath his blazer and he could feel her nuzzling her face into his neck, moving the collar of his shirt so she could graze her lips against his skin.

Turning her head, (Y/n) kept her cheek nuzzled against his neck and a kind smile on her face towards the two men standing next to Tommy whose focus was now severed from what they had previously been talking about.

"Mrs Shelby, looking lovely,"

"Thank you,"

"How about a dance?"

(Y/n) vaguely recognised the man on Tommy's right but she couldn't recall his name and the smile on his face was less than inviting or even friendly. She wasn't so sure a dance would be fun or the right thing and with Tommy's arm tightening around her waist, (Y/n) knew he didn't agree to that either. Work and home life were always kept separate and Tommy didn't want the line between them erasing.

"Sounds like a great idea, shall we?"

A smile tugged at (Y/n)'s lips when Tommy thrust his glass at the man beside him before he turned and guided (Y/n) towards the dance floor. He'd had enough of work and socialising with people like that for one night and he could tell by the expression on (Y/n)'s face that she was about ready to leave. They wouldn't be here for much longer.

Circling her arms around Tommy's neck, (Y/n) pressed her chest up against his when he reeled her in closer with his hands clamped down protectively on her hips. A loving warmth spread through her system when he leaned his forehead down to rest against hers and their gazes interlocked.

They didn't dance often, Tommy wasn't a dancer and with his line of work and their busy lives, it didn't leave much time for dancing. (Y/n) could scarcely remember the last time they danced together, let alone in front of others with an audience like this. But she couldn't focus or even notice the other people swaying close by on the dance floor or the onlookers around the large hall. All she could see, feel and her was the man in front of her with a small grace of a smile present on his otherwise stoic face.

(Y/n) didn't know how long they had been dancing for, they had spun in circles, swayed left and right and done a brief twirl before merging back together again.

With her cheek resting on Tommy's shoulder, (Y/n) let her eyes fall closed and pushed further into Tommy's chest like she was trying to find a way into his heart to keep close and safe. She felt his hands move from her hips to circle behind her and his fingers linked together, keeping her caged in his embrace as if he was afraid she was going to disappear.

The unease she had been feeling earlier had melted away but it was now replaced with something else. Her stomach was starting to curl into knots in a way that made (Y/n) unsure if she was going to be sick or not and the room now felt like it was in the middle of a volcano. Heat was rising all around her prickling her sweaty skin and making her feel uncomfortable.

When Tommy spun them round on his heels, even though the action was slow and in time with the music, (Y/n) felt her head turn on its axis and her steps faltered causing her weight to lean into Tommy.

"Everythin' okay?" Tipping his head down, Tommy hovered his lips over the shell of her ear and kissed the spot behind her ear, slowing down until they were barely moving anymore.

"Can we sit down?" (Y/n) moved her hands from behind Tommy's neck so she could scrunch his shirt up in her fists, grounding herself to the feel of him and his heartbeat that thundered peacefully through her skin. The few drinks she'd had so far must have gone straight to her head and interferred with the panic and adrenaline she already felt.

"Course, what's wrong?" Tommy's hand moved to the small of her back as he slowly guided them off the dance floor towards the nearest table where Arthur happened to be sitting.

"I just feel lightheaded, I'm okay."

She felt better when she sat down and the weight was off her legs that had started to tremble. Her elbow leaned on the table and her hand propped up her head that was suddenly too heavy for her neck. Her stomach was still churning and knotting up like a tangled snake inside her but sitting down helped a tiny bit. Tommy's hands on her shoulders and his lips against the back of her head helped the most.

After a few minutes, (Y/n) closed her eyes and pushed her face further into the palm of her hand to surpress a groan as her free arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Wishing her arm was some sort of binder that would press down on the pain and make it go away.

Tommy scanned his eyes around the hall, barely listening to the drabble Arthur was reeling off. He massaged his fingers into (Y/n)'s shoulders and leaned down to press another kiss to the back of her head. But when he felt her body starting to shake beneath him, something sparked to life in his gut and his expression hardened to stone.

Letting go of her shoulders, Tommy walked round and kneeled down on the floor in front of (Y/n)'s legs. His hands moved to rub up and down her thighs over her dress but he could feel his heart shattering in his chest when he looked her over.

She looked worse than she had earlier.

When they arrived she seemed fine, nervous but otherwise fine. Now, Tommy could see her skin wasn't the right colour anymore, her arm was bound around her stomach like she was in pain and her whole body had started to tremble. When he pressed the back of his hand against her temple. he could feel she was starting to burn a temperature.

"I'm taking you home. Now."

They couldn't stay here any longer when Tommy wasn't sure if his wife was going to collapse or start crying out in agony. He had to take her home where he could look after her without the risk of onlookers. Home was where she would be safe and have privacy that they didn't have here.

Tommy didn't know what to do when (Y/n) suddenly doubled over on herself until her head was pressing into her knees and both arms were bound around her stomach like iron bars. His hands moved from her thighs to her upper arms that were still shaking and he pressed his forehead against the top of her head, quietly shushing her when she started to groan.

"Baby, talk to me. What's wrong eh?"

(Y/n) tried to shake her head but it only made her feel dizzy and when she tried to speak, nothing but a croaked gurgle left her lips. She wanted to go home, she wanted Tommy to take her home. Her stomach was now feeling agonising cramps, everything was trembling and her body was on fire.

She wanted Tommy wrapped around her like a blanket, she wanted to feel his comfort and for him to magically take all the pain away but she didn't even know why she was suddenly in so much pain.

She felt fine before they came here.

Carefully, Tommy took (Y/n)'s chin between his fingers and tilted her head up so she could look at him again and it broke his heart to see tears staining her cheeks.

"Baby-"

Whatever he was about to say got stuck at the back of his throat when (Y/n) jerked to the side and threw up on the floor next to him.

Tommy remained perfectly still, his hands frozen on her arms and his jaw slack before he gently moved to rub his hand up and down her back. Something was definitely wrong with his wife for her to be sick and cry in public like this. (Y/n) was always so well composed and if she felt nervous she would tell him and they would go home. But this wasn't nerves, this was something else.

"Let it out, love."

Keeping one hand on her back, Tommy swiped the hankerchief from his top pocket and passed it to her before he kissed her hair and cradled the back of her neck.

When she threw up again, Tommy sighed into her hair and pushed himself up a little higher, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet as his eyes glanced over to Arthur. His brother was in between sitting and standing, unsure what to do or how he could help.

A burning sensation crept up the back of Tommy's throat and dwelled deep down in his chest when he heard murmurs and saw that a small crowd had started to get closer to see what was going on. Why were they gathering round? This wasn't a show or spectacle. (Y/n) wasn't doing this for an audience, she was ill and she didn't need any onlookers gawping at her.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" His voice bellowed throughout the room and seemed to overpower the music that was already fading into the background, overcome by the scene of the Shelby's.

Some people turned their heads, adverted their eyes, others skimped away towards the bar or out of sight so they couldn't be seen gawking anymore. Just a few people stayed gathered round and made a small amount of room for Polly to push her way through and reach her nephew and his wife.

"Tommy..."

Turning his head back from looking through the crowd, Tommy looked back at (Y/n) but he could feel the blood draining down to his feet and his eyes widened in their sockets. Blood was dribbling down her lower lip and making a small slithering trail down her chin.

Gulping, Tommy tried to stop himself from shaking and he took the hankerchief from her hand to gently wipe the blood away, staining the once white fabric with tainted crimson.

"We're taking her to the hospital. Arthur, you can drive, Ada and John will sort out here." Polly patted Tommy's shoulder before she stood up, ordering the boys about with a wave of her hand. There was no way she was waiting here to sort things out when she knew exactly how Tommy was going to react in this situation. He was going to blow up, lose his temper and with a gun strapped to his side, he wasn't safe if he got enraged. Polly needed to go along and keep her nephew calm and under control since (Y/n) was in no fit state to do so on her own.

Wasting no more time, Tommy scooped an arm under (Y/n)'s knees and hooked the other around her back and lifted her up from the chair, praying she wouldn't be sick again or throw up any more blood. He had done this many times, hoisted his wife up into his arms bridal style and carried her wherever they needed to be. Whether it was carrying her over the threshold when they got married, from the sofa up the stairs to bed when she fell asleep waiting up for him in the early hours of the morning. Or carrying her to bed once when she was too drunk to stand, Tommy was used to this and he secretly loved it.

He loved holding (Y/n) like this, having her so close to his heart, in his arms and against him or even when he carried her over his shoulder, it was natural.

But this time it was different. Tommy needed to carry her like this, he needed to hold her and protect her and take her away from prying eyes and get her somewhere safe, quickly. This was to get an escape for her, get her to the car and show everyone here that she was his girl, his lady, his to protect and love and take care of.

Polly opened the doors and Tommy barged through them, digging his fingers into (Y/n)'s flesh, squeezing her dress so tightly against her skin that they almost melted together as he jogged down the steps towards the car. He could feel (Y/n)'s arms tightening around his neck and he knew from the whimpers muffling into his chest that his once white shirt would now be spotted with crimson just like the hankerchief.

It took a great deal of effort for Tommy to climb into the car backwards, shuffle across the seat with (Y/n) still in his arms and then manoeuvre her across his lap so that Polly could squeeze in the back with him as Arthur scrambled into the front.

(Y/n)'s head fell on Tommy's shoulder and her trembling arms coiled away from his neck so she could again scrunch his shirt up in her fists, accidentally popping a button in the process.

She could feel Polly's hand rubbing over her ankles soothingly and Tommy had one arm around her waist and the other hand was pressed against her cheek like a cold compress. It was soothing with how hot her skin felt and his thumb was pressing into her cheekbone, stimulating her to focus on him and stay awake.

If (Y/n) hadn't of heard Polly giving out the orders inside, she would have guessed it was Arthur driving the car. He was too harsh and didn't break fast enough when he went round the corners and he managed to hit almost every pothole and cobble on the road. It made Tommy growl, something that vibrated through (Y/n)'s hands and up into her chest and sent adrenaline sparking in her stomach.

Tommy gulped when the tremours rattling through (Y/n) got worse until she was violently moving back and forth, unable to control it to the point even her eyes were jolting from side to side.

"S'alright love, not long now- hey, you keep looking at me, got it? Keep those eyes on me, you're not allowed to sleep yet."

Tommy's voice was oddly stern, a tone (Y/n) wasn't familiar with him using around her and his words were sharp and cut like razors piercing into her mind. And if his words weren't enough to capture her full attention, she felt his hand move from her cheek to roughly grab her chin between his fingers and thumb. He jerked her head back until she was face to face with him, their noses skimming together and their breaths mingling to the point she was sure he could taste the blood on her lips.

His brows were raised high, his blue eyes were as deep as the sea and pierced her very soul but it was the way his jaw was set and his lips were locked in a straight line that got (Y/n)'s attention the most.

He wasn't having her pass out on him yet.

With a quiet gurgle, (Y/n) nodded her head to show him she understood, that she was listening and trying her hardest to focus on him, despite the fog that was rolling in on her mind.

The car came to an ungodly stop causing (Y/n)'s head to bash into Tommy's and even though he groaned, it was (Y/n) who momentairely blacked out. But when Tommy's hand shook her chin and got rougher when patting her cheek, her senses came back to her and she tried to clear her vision so she could look up at her husband again who was calling her name violently.

Tommy could see (Y/n) was on the verge of passing out when he carried her into the hospital. All he could manage to say was 'help her' on repeat, raising his voice until he was almost screaming, demanding the attention of anyone who would listen so they would come and look at his wife.

He didn't hear whatever Polly murmured to Arthur who disappeared without a word and Tommy didn't care to know. His attention was on his lady and her alone.

"Set her down here, what happened?"

Jogging down a hallway after a doctor and two nurses, Tommy hovered over a small stretcher in the empty corridor and carefully laid (Y/n) down, taking her hands in both of his when she clung to him like glue. He didn't want to let her go, he would rather them assess her while she stayed wrapped up in his arms but he knew that wasn't practical. But the way (Y/n) began to cry when he laid her down shattered his soul.

"I don't know, she was fine until an hour ago. She's burning up and she's been throwing up bad, blood too." Tommy wasn't stupid, he knew whatever was wrong with (Y/n) was due to something happening at that event tonight. She couldn't go from being perfectly healthy at home to then suddenly deteriorating this quickly for no reason at all.

Tommy stood near (Y/n)'s legs, both her hands still tightly held in his fists so she knew he hadn't gone anywhere and he could feel Polly's hands on his shoulders. A small attempt to try and keep him calm when she could feel his resolve quickly slipping away.

They watched in silence and concentration as the doctor checked (Y/n)'s temperature, listened to her heart, peaked inside her mouth before he tried to press his hands on her stomach. One touch sent (Y/n)'s knees coiling up to her stomach and a gut wrenching sob burned past her lips with a few speckles of blood.

"Has she eaten or drank anything?"

"Uh, wine, a few glasses. No food."

"No one else has been ill?" One look at the three of them told the doctor they had been somewhere in public, some event or a show or theatre of some kind. Tommy was in a suit and the two ladies were in dresses with their hair pinned up into elaborate styles.

"No."

"I think she's ingested something-"

"Like what?" Tommy wanted answers and he didn't feel like he had the time to wait for them or let the doctor finish his sentence. He needed (Y/n) to be helped and looked after but he needed to know what was wrong with her. If someone has given her something, Tommy needed the Blinders out there to find who it was and deal with them.

"My guess would be poison..." The rest of his words hit on deaf ears, all Tommy could think of was that someone had managed to get something into (Y/n)'s drink and not his. They went for the one thing that mattered most to Tommy, they didn't even bother to try and harm him as well. Just (Y/n).

When the nurses started to wheel the gurney towards a room, Tommy followed, keeping (Y/n)'s hands in his as tight as he could. Watching in agony when more spurts of blood coughed up through her lips and her eyes started to drift near the back of her head.

Something between shock and pure rage filtered through Tommy's darkening eyes when the doctor's hand pressed firmly into his chest and caused his feet to scuff against the floor when he was stopped in his stride. His hands let go of (Y/n) when the gurney kept moving and it felt as if someone had torn his heart out of his chest and left him watching it leave.

"Mr Shelby, you can wait out here while we stabilise your wife." He knew who they were and he still dared to tell Tommy the one word that wasn't in his vocabulary unless it was (Y/n)- or Polly- saying it.

He couldn't breathe.

They were actually trying to separate him from her, they were keeping them apart when she needed him the most. She needed him there to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay and that he was going to watch over her and make sure she was alright. What was he supposed to do out here? He couldn't sit and count the time and wait for news, not knowing what they were doing to (Y/n) in there. He couldn't do that.

The moment (Y/n)'s weak, choking voice called out his name, something snapped inside Tommy. In that split second his heart stopped and the blood flooded his ears and clouded his vision.

He snapped the gun from his holster and pushed the barell so forcefully against the doctor's temple that a circular indent started to form around the gun.

"I stay with my fucking wife. Move." Tears burned into his face like acid and his mouth became oddly dry as he furiously spat the words through gritted teeth.

He could feel Polly debating what to do, her hands kept moving from his shoulders, down his arms, back to his shoulders and then her chin perched on his shoulder. She wanted to scold him, to shout at him and rage that this was a hospital, these people were here to help (Y/n) and he couldn't threaten them lest he wanted (Y/n) to be thrown out. But all she could do was try and comfort him because she knew Tommy wasn't going to listen and he was wrestling between his temper, his heart and his yearning to be with (Y/n).

The moment the doctor stepped aside, Tommy stuffed the gun back in the holster and ran into the room. He clasped (Y/n)'s hand tighter than he should have and brought it to his lips, kissing her flushed skin to let her know that he was back, he hadn't left her for long. He carded his fingers through her hair, smoothing it away from her face while a nurse busied herself with taking a blood sample.

It was clear that both nurses had seen the interaction with the doctor and they knew who they were treating in here. They were fighting to keep their hands from shaking and they kept looking at Tommy's blazer, fearing at any moment he would take out his gun and unleash his rage on them.

"I'm here, love, I'm still here."

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A horrid burning sensation flared up the back of (Y/n)'s throat and coupled with the aching fire in the pit of her stomach making her feel like she had swallowed fire and lived to tell the tale. The burning spread through to her mouth that was parched and dry and felt as horrid as her eyes when she tried to open them.

The room she found herself in was small and the sheets beneath her were scratchy like paper and hard as stone.

She didn't recognise where she was when her sore eyes finally focused on what was around her. But what she did recognise, was a head of jet black hair, ruffled to the max and stuck up at all angles like he had been electrocuted.

Tommy.

He was slumped in a chair that was pulled as close to the bed as he could get it. His knees were bent out at the sides, his upper body was slumped over and his head was burrowed into the mattress she was laying on with both his hands clasped around one of hers.

She couldn't find her voice to speak, her throat was torn to ribbons when she tried to make a sound so she settled for moving her free hand and stroke her fingers through his hair. It only took two seconds for Tommy to wake up on full alert, his job made him a light sleeper to the point even the lightest rain drizzling down on the window would wake him up in the dead of night.

The surprise was evident in his crystal eyes but it was the way his lips parted and ever so slightly curved at the sides that made (Y/n)'s stomach jump with relief and excitement.

"Baby, oh love you're awake." For a moment, Tommy pressed his forehead back into the mattress and sent a silent thank you prayer to God and to Polly who he knew had been praying throughout the night and into the morning for this moment.

When he looked back up, Tommy stood to unsteady feet and leaned over to capture (Y/n)'s chapped lips in a breath taking kiss. He stole all the air she had within her lungs and more, swiping his tongue over her lower lip while one hand moved to cradle her neck and chin. They pulled apart when both were gasping for breath but Tommy stayed as close as possible with their noses brushing and their lashes tangling together. He sat down on the side of the bed, allowing a small smile to creep onto his otherwise stern and exhausted features.

"What... w-where-"

"Shh, it's alright," He stole another kiss, a gentle, brief one this time where their lips barely touched, only grazed together making (Y/n) lean up for more. "You're in the hospital, love. Been out for over twelve hours, gave me a fucking fright."

It was (Y/n)'s turn to steal another touch of his lips, nibbling at his lower lip when he leaned closer.

Everything was foggy, her mind was locked away in a cage and she couldn't seem to find out how to open it. She remembered turning up at the charity event, she had wrapped herself around Tommy, refusing to let him leave her side.

Flashes of voices swirled around in her head, shouting, bright lights blurring overhead. The feeling of Tommy's arms around her and his hand on her face, his deep eyes right in front of her but feeling so far away. A bumpy car ride that could have taken hours, she wasn't sure. Everything was mushed together, clips of a movie cut up and stitched back together in the wrong order.

"Some bastard spiked your drink, just yours, there was traces of blood in your blood. Doctor gave you medicine and charcoal to bind it, you'll be okay though. I won't let it happen again I swear it."

Tommy had waited through the night and into the morning as the doctor put (Y/n) on an IV of fluids and antidotes and concentrated charcoal to bind to the poison in her blood and stop it from spreading any further. The fever she had broke around three in the morning and finally, roughly around six in the morning- after Polly had gone home to help clean up the mess left in their wake- Tommy let himself fall asleep. Assured that (Y/n) was resting and not in danger of getting any worse while he slept vigil by her side.

For a few moments, (Y/n) closed her eyes and soaked in the feeling of Tommy's forehead pressing into hers, his hand on her neck and his breaths mixing in with hers.

"Lay with me," Her voice was quiet and she barely croaked out the words loud enough for Tommy to hear, but when they registered, his signature smile that he saved just for her graced his lips.

How could he refuse?

The blazer he had been wearing had been shed sometime in the early morning and he had kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned most of his shirt when he started to sweat and panic. But when he stood up from the bed, he took off the holsters he had kept on him for protection and as a silent warning to any staff member not to get in his way or ask him to leave.

He placed the holster on his vacant spot on the chair and shed his shirt like a second skin before he carefully climbed on the bed and laid on his side, facing (Y/n). His hand moved back to its new spot on her neck, splaying his thumb out over her jaw as he shuffled his other arm beneath her head and neck to keep her close.

(Y/n) reached out to hold onto his arm that was laid over her chest and her fingers danced across his skin, drawing aimless, soothing patterns over his arm while he pressed his lips against the side of her head. Breathing in her scent that was like his personal drug.

He couldn't come close to losing her like that again.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #imagine #tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #the peaky blinders #the peaky blinders imagine

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swordsmans · 1 year

Note

do you have any zolu fic recs? 🤔

oh boy do i.

my deepest apologies to others who have asked and only gotten "i promise i'll make a post!!" in response. now... here is my list! 36+ fics, including a few series i'm counting as "single" recs, (+3 not counted).

Spin a Yarn by SrirachaBunny

technically a series, this is a time travel fix-it that has expanded outward from its original premise over the years but is still very much THE zolu fix-it of all time.

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs

“First mates… we devote our lives to our captains. Our entire beings. We live for them, breathe for them. And they expect us not to fall in love?”

Devotion by BasicallyACat

two part canon compliant series that lives rent-free in my mind. this is my go-to "must read for new zolu fans" fic

without guilt by Augment

Luffy hungers, Zoro thirsts. (+ bonus honorable mention to "But Patience Boasts", which is the sanji-pov portion of this fic and is one of my faves of all time)

got all my attention fixed on you (and you're just where you said you'd be) by nevermordor

Luffy looks again at the bitemarks that he left on Zoro’s wrist. Zoro’s usually hurt, one way or another. Sometimes it’s definitely been Luffy’s fault too, but the bitemarks feel different. (honestly, just read all of nevermordor's fics; they are a fave of all time)

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

tidings of war, tidings of joy by queerweather

Zoro is drenched in sweat already, but at least with his haki holding Luffy’s at bay he isn’t suffocating. And Luffy, damn him, looks completely unruffled.

Don't Go Where I Can't Follow by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha

Because before the Pirate King and the World's Greatest Swordsman there were two lost boys in East Blue. How people grow and promises change. (Zoro finds the color of his devotion.)

Fate and death are made in pairs by demonsLOver

"It's not because of his power or skill. He makes enemies and allies fight for his side. Among all the men of the sea, he has the most frightening ability." Mihawk stated to his pupil. (+ honorable mention to "Forged By Fire" as well)

our shores of starlight (come sailing in) by kurgaya

At Shells Town, Luffy does not meet Roronoa Zoro. Instead, he acquires a sword.

let me carry your scars by arkhamsjason

What Zoro didn't expect, as he made himself comfortable, as so many night before, to keep watch along with Luffy, was that he'd finally have the chance to know what his captain's ruined chest would feel like beneath his calloused hand and guilt filled heart.

and i will learn for you by blueacorn

Zoro will begin to realise that there are other ways to protect.

ship to wreck. by thychesters

Nami is the first one to notice something is amiss, but then given her current competition is Luffy and Zoro, it isn’t surprising. (+ honorable mention to "the salt & the sea.", a reincarnation AU!)

unspeakable love by gadgetronic

A character study with a focus on Zoro that explores promises, sacrifices, beginnings, and devotion.

Precipice of a Change by xpiester333x

Zoro stood there. He was on the precipice of something. One wrong move would send him over the edge into an unknown. He needed to step back, but his feet were locked and frozen on spot. (one of the few AUs to make this list! the characterization here is SPOT ON!)

First Mate, Soulmate by kkuroshii

Fighting with Luffy comes as easy as breathing to Zoro, and he can’t help but wonder what accomplishing his dream with this boy would be like

Robin Knows by leopardgeckoz

In which Nico Robin has always known how her captain and first mate feel for one another, and the scenario's in which the rest of the crew discover it.

with this heart of mine that's guilty; (not remorseful) by phosphenical

It had been two weeks, four days, and twenty-something odd hours since Zoro died. (WARNING FOR PERMA-MCD/HEAVY ANGST)

thank you. / goodbye. by Kenshi

WARNING FOR PERMA-MCD; short and... not "sweet", exactly; the style of this one does nice things to my brain

Blood Song by blue_wonderer

There's nothing to scream about because nothing happened.

blood-spitting loyalty by guiltylights

One day, you’re going to find something worth more to you than your own pride.

axiomatic by grainjew

Reflections on Zoro's devotion.

Providence by taizi

"You know, Zoro," he says, "I broke my end of that deal." 'If you ever come between me and my dream—' Ah, but then, "So did I."

Mutiny by VIKAN

Zoro disobeys a Captain's Order and it's all Sanji's fault. (not strictly ZoLu in the romantic sense, but this fic is a masterclass in both tension-building and how to write an in-character ZoLu argument)

something happened by torkz

Things are changing fast, and Zoro doesn't want to walk into the future with any secrets from his Captain.

Recognition by VickyVicarious

Zoro on titles, dreams, and Luffy. (old-school)

In the Blink of an Eye by InsaneMelon/Acewithapaintbrush

honorable mention to another old-school oneshot from FFnet UPDATE!! this has been re-written and the link has been updated.

Coming Home by thricepiercedpirate

What begins as a happy reunion, because everyone is accounted for and more-or-less in one piece, unexpectedly turns awkward as hell… (the only explicit entry on this list, but i'd be remiss if i did not include the fic that introduced/converted me to ZoLu for life back at the dawn of time... thanks from past-gyro, we wouldn't be here without you, dude.)

Stakes by CaptainJojo

Zoro has a good grasp of what fights are- and are not- worth his time. Or: Zoro gets lost and gets in one (1) fight about it.

Like a Dawning by WhirlyBird70

I am the man who will be King of the Pirates, Luffy said, says, and it’s not a promise but a will, and Zoro knows – knows that of anyone Zoro has ever seen, Luffy is the one to have the Haki of the Conquering King.

invisible threads that bind us by Pure_Night_Fury

Yin and Yang some people would say. Soulmates, others would mention. Or: Nami meets two idiots.

greed by species_baby

Something about his self-assuredness, his conviction makes Zoro dizzy. Although, that could also be the starvation.

Smile, Darn Ya, Smile by sciencemyfiction

Wouldn’t it be fucked up if Zoro was made to eat a smile fruit? And what would Luffy and the other Straw Hats do to help him?

Also, I'm including a shameless and horribly self-indulgent plug for my own stuff, because this is a ZoLu rec list and hey! I write that! lol

poly philtatos (the most loved by far) by swordsmans

25k; Zoro protects the crew and his Captain, and does not realize they will go to the ends of the earth to protect him, too.

ocean theology by swordsmans

40k; canon-compliant enma-asura/nika reincarnation. kinda.

the sea makes bones of bodies by swordsmans

88k; Only one is a monster, but both are a little monstrous. mafia hitman/underground fight club champion/reincarnated moon god x merman/legendary sea monster/reincarnated sun god AU. my magnum opus, probably.

#one piece #zolu #fic recs!#answers #srry this took like. one million hours #days even

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st-armand · 11 months

Text

Author’s Notes: Ha, yall thought that the Plug!Hobie fic was gunna be posted first, gotta keep yall on your toes. I finished this first so here it is <3 Also any content by me about Hobie his age is 21-24. Im also looking for people to beta read.

CWs: Mention of piercing gone wrong, suggestive, stealing, not beta read

Random Hobie Brown Headcanons

He has/had more piercings, notably a pair of sub-clavicle piercings, a belly piercing and nipples piercings (I know other people headcanon him as having a prince albert, but god I know that shit hurts so we’ll be skipping for now). He took those out because they kept getting caught in the frayed fabrics of his clothing, and especially worse his spider suit.

His final straw was amidst fighting a foe, he sustained several injuries, but he was horrified looking at the ripped skin of his clavicle, frantically looking for the bar and the flesh still attached, he did, but it was deep in the crevices of his suit and didn’t find it until after repairing it.

That was enough to get rid of all his torso piercings.

Hobie is extremely anal retentive when it comes to the upkeep of his piercings though, every night, maybe except those he’s really incapacitated from battle. He spends so much time in the morning carefully soaking q-tips in saline to clean the puncture holes, if he can take the jewelry out to let it soak in peroxide for a few hours.

You both fight over the real estate of the sink and its mirror, until you ask (threaten) him to get you a vanity so you both can have space to get ready, he does and its gorgeous; a vintage one he found abandoned on a side street.

But this doesn’t stop him taking up vanity space.

“Feel pretty sitting here luv”

Hobie is of Jamaican heritage, I headcanon that his grandmother is his only living relative, and he dedicates so much time taking care of her in her old age, despite their arguments about Hobie being able to be free, and not held down by family. She knows she won’t have many years left, and she may want to embrace him in her love for these final years, but she also doesn’t want him to feel a great heartbreak at the loss.

That being said he visits her every few days, stopping by for some beef patties, jerk chicken, curries of all kind, taking home the bulk containers of sorrell and ginger beer, Grandma Brown doesn’t question how her lanky streetlight grandson has gotten so strong and fit over the last few years, or how he’s able to take the large crates back to his flat.

She has her suspicions and theories, but she would rather not pry if it could end in harm for the both of them.

When he’s off being spiderman, or doing shows and odd jobs, you take up the mantle, visiting Grandma Brown and aiding her around the home, Grandma Brown gets to sit back comfortably as you take over cleaning and seasoning the chicken, she trusts you to remember all the ingredients she uses to make Hobie feel like he’s still a child with how nostalgic the food makes him.

She genuinely loves having you around, but she also loves to tease her grandson, “Don’t know what you see in that boy, he should kiss the ground you walk on darling,”

And that’s not to say he doesn’t. The undercurrent of his unruffled attitude, is an adoration for you, he loves you in a way he can’t even put into words for his songs. He thanks whatever cosmic source there is for dropping you in his lap, like a starved dog given shelter, and cared for the rest of its life.

Sometimes you catch him staring at you deeply, teasing the inside of his lip piercing with his tongue causing it to wiggle around, youre locked into his penetrating gaze, you feel critically wounded by his affection, it always comes in sudden frothing sea waves, cooling your body, leaving you to yearn for the warmth of the sun that is his love.

Hobie isn’t the type of punk to wear sexually suggestive clothing, but he does use riskier photos of you or the both of you, faces obscured or cropped, and edited heavily with grain to make it look vintage, he takes them to a vendor he works with closely for band merch and has them screen print the design on shirts for the both of you, loves wearing them during concerts especially to ward off erratic fans.

You let Hobie pester you about getting a piercing, which you know you can’t handle the pain for, but you humor him.

“Luv ya need some metal on that leng face of yours” He’ll say every few weeks, despite knowing the answer, insanity is doing the same thing knowing the results won’t change, Hobie’s fine with being insane if it means maybe one day your resolve will crack and he can see you two with matching jewelry.

He often ponders about what gems and metals would look best, the color, the shape, the size, and how all these can complement that enticing face of yours.

Steals you clothes (duh not original, but considering my taste of clothes…), and I don’t mean a few pieces here and there, he actively searches for things that will compliment your wardrobe, and in the span of a few months together your closet has doubled in size.

One day you say you’re interested in latex, he’s going to barter with some craftsperson to get you a few items to experiment with, maybe a few gloves.

You say you want to be corporate goth (I don’t see people ever adding corp goth to their alternative reader fics) ? He’s nicking the most gorgeous pants and skirt suits he can find, getting accessories and sitting beside you as you customize the outfits together.

Like high fashion, Thierry Mugler or VW? He has no problems with linking up with Black Cat to get into stock warehouses and design studios to steal some, Black Cat teases him by saying ‘You owe me for this bug.’ But she gets compensation by nicking a bunch of clothes for herself.After the fact they bound off in separate directions carrying webbed satchels of merchandise.

You know he stole them, in fact youre proud he was able to do it with ease.

(He doesn’t tell you Black Cat helped him, you wrongly assume they are attracted to each other, but Black Cat is actually a lesbian, he’s seen her in costume as a spectator of a dyke march parade under the guise of ‘watching out for the community’, he doesn’t tell her he’s seen her sneaking off into a civilian woman’s apartment, he’s happy to keep the city safe enough for everyone to nurture love.)

You wear these outfits with pride, sauntering down the street as an orchestra of gawks, and stares fills the area, blown away by the complexities of the outfit, and attention to detail to every complimentary aspects of the look, the essence of slay cunt one could say.

When Hobie’s there walking alongside you, he lets a hand glide to your lower back, urging you to walk faster, whispering into your ear,

“Walk faster luv, don’t you wanna give them a show?”

And scene. Hope yall enjoyed these, I aint great at british slang so be patient and give tips!

Comments, questions, criticisms? Let me know!

Request are OPEN

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie headcanons #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv hobie #hobie brown x black!reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader

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hoshinoyozora · 1 year

Text

The Mermaid’s Demon

🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Jade Leech x Female! Reader

💛 Word Count:

❤ Warnings: -

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!

***

Reading A Long Fatal Love Chase by Louisa May Alcott and hhgghh let’s just say the antagonist really inspired me to write this.

“I’m neither good nor bad. I’m simply an adaptable person.”

Was Jade’s cavalier reply as you hunched over the bodies on the sea floor. Your poor, pitiful parents who had been adamant not to marry you off to him just to repay their humongous debt, now had to exchange it for something much more valuable than your consent. Your brother, who had tried to protect you behind his valiant body, eventually succumbed to the same fate as your parents.

It wasn’t their fault. Jade simply had the advantage of having magic, on top of his vast and frightening influence to restrict your family from any possible exit.

In your tearful rage you’d called him ‘evil’, but Jade defended himself with the confounding easiness and the contemptible amusement of a man who didn’t fear the consequences of his actions. He might as well find joy in them, for he abhorred predictability beneath his unruffled demeanor.

“And your parents failed to repay their debt, so it’s unfair for you to accuse me of being ‘evil’.” he paused, then smiled. The sadistic glow in his eyes overshadowed his bioluminescent body, and you wondered if he was the demon that you overheard so many humans feared. “Don’t you think so, Wife?”

“No, I will not be your wife! I refuse!”

“Your parents said that, and look at where it led them. Perhaps you haven’t learned the lesson yet?”

He grinned wickedly, showing off a row of sharp teeth. It was a sight that spooked you more than facing a shark head-on, for a mindless beast was still better than an astute criminal. Still, you dug your nails into the sand and fought the urge to cower.

“Well?”

“Screw you.” you hissed. “I’d rather die than marrying you.”

The grin vanished, and you almost preferred it to stay for his seriousness forebode misfortune upon your already wretched self.

“Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”

You gulped, but you remained steadfast.

Jade closed his eyes and shrugged.

“Alright, if that’s what my wife wants.”

A flash of light, and your ears rang as you slowly felt yourself falling onto the sand. Glancing to your left, you saw a wisp of blood floating like a crimson ghost. Your hand went to touch your side, and pain shot up to your spine.

It hurt.

“I’m not the most merciful person, but I ask you again.”

You looked up, discerning Jade hovered over you with his magic pen poised.

Did he just… shoot you with his magic?

“Do you really want to die?”

You gaped at him, still stunned.

“Even if you refuse to answer, you’ll still die from either bleeding or eaten by other fish.”

Sadly, you had no time to answer for your consciousness failed you, and you were left under his complete mercy.

***

“Good morning, Wife.”

Jade’s simper was the first thing to greet you as you fluttered your eyes open. A bandage around your stomach hindered your movement slightly, but he helped you rest against the headboard.

“Where am I?” you rasped, scanning the cold and spacious room.

He hummed and handed you a glass of water, affirming your suspicion of his ownership.

“Why, you’re in our room, of course.”

You glared at him through the rim of the glass.

“Father isn’t very pleased about my choice to marry you, but I’m sure he’ll change his mind once he meets you.”

“And what if he won’t?”

Jade shrugged.

“Then, there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“You’re awfully persistent.” you hissed. “I don’t even know you beyond being a debt collector and my family’s murderer.”

“Still sensitive about it, aren’t we?” he sneered, arousing the indignation that lay dormant from your faint. “Let’s just say, fiery people pique my fancy, because they make docile spouses once handled properly.”

You ground your teeth.

“You will not break my spirit.”

Jade chuckled.

“That’s alright. I love the chase as well. I think it adds to the romance,” The sadistic glow in his eyes returned, and though he was a regular merman in the eyes of the humans, he was a demon in yours. “and it makes the reward all the sweeter.”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #twst imagines #yandere twst #female reader #yandere jade x reader #yandere jade leech #twisted wonderland jade #jade leech #twst jade

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rubctosis · 19 days

Note

It’s in a swirl of petals that she appears at his side, arms draped over his shoulders languidly from behind against the fluffy feathers of his coat. “Traffy-kun.” Comes her low, velvety voice, smooth as silk as she leans in against him and down to press the softest little kiss just behind his ear. “Are you busy?” 🌸

✎...ㅤ @bloominghands asked | Unprompted ›› Always Accepting

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, Law found himself still battling his restless rhythms. The dim glow of the Tang's lanterns painted soft shadows across the galley as he sat at the table, wrapped in the stillness of the early morning. nursing a cup of coffee in hand, his sharp golden gaze drifting over the spread of papers before him. Scattered papers lay on the table before him, the early morning news and updates about other novas a scant distraction from the habitual restlessness of his mind. Law scanned the headlines with little interest, his thoughts drifting as his gaze lingered on the pages. They contained snippets of news from the across the seas, updates on other Nova crews and distant affairs, but Law's attention kept wandering, caught between the lines of text. His coffee steamed gently in his hands, the warm, bitter aroma a familiar comfort amid the solitude. Yet even surrounded by the cozy embrace of his ship, his sleep patterns remained stubbornly unchanged—he found himself lying awake far too long and rising before the first light of dawn could pierce the horizon. Sleep, it seemed, was a luxury rarely granted to him. As he read, his senses picked up on a subtle shift in the air—a faint swirl of motion at his side that pulled him away from the words. The petals of an ethereal bloom coalesced, bringing the gentle figure of Robin to his side. He greeted her with a calm familiarity as her hands draped over his shoulder.

❝ nico-ya . ❞ he greeted, his tone calm & not overly surprised at her appearance. unruffled despite the hour. His eyes closed as he felt the soft touch of her lips against his skin, a gesture that softened the creases on his forehead. The simple touch lingered, its warmth speaking more than words could express, a silent conversation woven into the fabric of their connection. Her arrival was a quiet, familiar comfort, a presence he welcomed without the need for words. Romanticism was alive and well in their hearts, undeterred by the fleeting pace of the world around them.

Law lifted a hand, his inked fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair away from Robin's face. He lingered in the touch for a moment, allowing it to speak volumes where words might have failed. Setting the papers aside, he wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer. His lips pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, mindful of the metal piercings that adorned them. He drew her close, cherishing her presence and the familiar scent of her. It was a silent invitation for the archaeologist to join him, a wordless offer.

❝ Not busy to that extent. But there's still a lot to be done. ❞ Law murmured, his voice a low rumble.

#bloominghands #𝓲. ⟢ Answered. › … 𝑴𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒅. .#LawBin #this made me so soft #let!! law!! love!! his!! wife!!#long post #i need to make a proper tag for these two.

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piratesgiftexchange · 8 months

Text

by depressedvillainobsession, for @beemovieerotica

PROMPT: "Davy Jones and Maccus realizing after 150 tenuous years at sea that they really are the most compatible for each other"

CONTENT WARNINGS: Period typical homophobia and punishment

WORD COUNT: 7,910

Another morning the monster sat hunched in front of his keys. Another miserable day. Another day in ten, in a hundred, in a thousand. Each one exactly the same as the previous, and likely the same as the one that would proceed it.

Monotony. The true terror of the Dutchman for any of the crew who had sailed with her long enough to know the things to be afraid of lay far beyond surface appearances.

However, for some of them, they had yet to find things to be more afraid of on the Dutchman than in the lives they had left behind.

For one crew member in particular, monotony was not the trouble of the day. Far from it.

The shark headed and bull headed first mate, Maccus, was late for his duties. An occurrence so rare and scandalous aboard the cursed ship that it reduced her crew to whispering and gossiping like children.

It was only the slow rapping of a wooden cane, echoing against the deck, that hushed its many occupance. Whiskers quivered and stilled, fins flattened hastily against damp skin, extra limbs and protrusions were tucked away. All to quell a growing octopian anger which directed their every move.

The icy gaze of the captain swept the deck. His tentacled finger tightened around the decaying wood of his cane as he continued to find his search empty and lacking of one of the few aboard this ship to whom it could be said he shared ‘fleeting’ affections of friendship.

“Where is my first mate, Palifico?” Davy Jones asked in a low voice, quiet and rife with dark expectation. As if Palifico should be able to summon the man to his side.

Palifico was a tall man appearing to be made of an empty forest of twisted coral. His eyes were two hollow, dark holes in his head, and it was a mystery how a voice even escaped him as he turned to face Davy Jones.

“I believe he is…asleep in his hammock, captain.” His deep voice hesitated, faded in the middle of his sentence, as he watched the captain’s expression.

“Still?” Davy Jones’ beard flicked in displeasure, the tentacles set to writhing like a nest of snakes as he looked up at the sun, well and truly risen in the sky.

“Still.” Palifico rumbled, moving his face back away to survey the silent crew arranged below them on the main deck. They were all waiting for a reaction now. There had to be one. A crew member disregarding his duties like this was dangerous, especially in such an esteemed position.

Davy’s thick moustache-like tentacles twitched, and his mouth beneath curled into a snarl of displeasure. He released his tight hold on his cane only to quickly shuck his hand higher up its length, allowing him to lift its tip off the deck and use it to gesture his bodyguard away.

“Go. Now. And see to it that the crew do their duties to the ship. I didn’t expect Maccus’ absence to cause such disarray, considering they are the same duties we have been performing for near a century and a half, and yet I stand disappointed and clearly overestimating the ability of my crew.”

“Would you like me to send someone to bring Maccus to you?” Palifico asked, apparently unfazed by the scathing manner in which Jones had just talked of his crew.

“If that is what I wished, I would have conveyed that to you. Go.” Davy Jones snapped at him, and Palifico inclined his head slightly and left, unruffled by the exchange.

With his cane still lifted, the captain made his way down the steps and across the deck down to the crew’s quarters. They consisted of a large area in the ship where hammocks were located along with bottles of whisky and other things 150 year old pirate quarters may have collected over time.

In the hammock in the corner, in the best, driest, and warmest spot in the whole room, lay his first mate.

He had his hands — which were slowly turning into claw-like appendages — tucked behind his wide shark’s head, and was whistling a low tune with his human eye closed.

“Did you think your absence would not be noted?” Davy Jones asked, letting his cane slip through his hold until the tip hit the deck with a loud ‘bang’.

The captain waited in silence for several long moments for a response, but Maccus only shrugged apathetically, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

“Or perhaps you thought I would not remember the date today, and you would receive a punishment great enough to ease you from your mind?”

At this Maccus did wince, and he slowly opened the one remaining eye in the front of his human face. The positioning of the socket was such that the first mate always looked terribly sad about something. But Davy knew it wasn’t just the eye that made Maccus appear morose today.

“Come now, Maccus. Kindred souls call to each other.”

“The 14th day of the 2nd month.” Maccus sighed, finally struggling up into a seated position despite the wriggling of the many extra limbs on his back and the swaying of the hammock beneath him. “Why did it have to happen on that day?”

“Because the fates are cruel and delight in our anguish.” Davy replied simply, moving weary bones across the space to Maccus’ side, where the first mate diligently held the hammock down so that the captain could take a seat beside him.

When Davy first became a sailor, his leg had prevented him from completing certain tasks with ease. Now that he had been sailing for decades, few things caused him difficulty. He had long since adapted and mastered abilities that made him one of the greatest sailors on the seas.

And yet Maccus still acted out of habit, making sure the captain’s path was clear where he could, carrying his cane for him when he had no need of it, moving to help him at the slightest sign of inconvenience.

Similarly, Davy Jones could tell what every grimace and snarl on the shark headed man’s face meant. He could distinguish between anger and fear, deference and rebellion, with a single flash of those pointed teeth. Maccus was as easy for him to read as the poetry he indulged himself in.

That was how long Maccus and Davy Jones had been at each other’s side. Their relationship was full of these little habits and rituals; the catching of an elbow when the captain stumbled in fatigue, the comforting —yet clandestine — brush of a claw when the first mate betrayed a sense of pain.

It was good fortune for them, then, that their relationship was so habitual in nature. The natural way in which they moved about each other, in the same way a breeze might weave through the leaves of a great oak, made their relationship perfectly invisible to the eye. It was only when one of them faltered in their duties, made some kind of misstep, that they were revealed. For a breeze does not rush to put a leaf back in place on its branch once it is dislodged. The leaf withers, and the breeze moves on.

“Don’t give me that lecture Davy, please. For the love of— something.” Maccus snapped. He closed his eye, squeezing it shut tightly, and sighed. “I’m well aware of our circumstances.”

Davy Jones turned his face away for a moment, collecting himself. Maccus was right, he was no mere sailor, fished from the sea. He was Davy’s first mate. His most valued friend beyond even that. And certainly no fool under any illusions of optimism.

“You know that I can still feel it?” Maccus asked suddenly, breaking the gentle silence between them, neither awkward, nor expectant. And Davy turned to face him.

“Feel what? Is it your…scar?”

“It still feels as though my throat is constricting and collapsing all at once. And I swear my face must be swelling, my hands clawing at my neck as I try to take in air. Even when I stand planted against this deck, I can feel my feet kicking underneath me in open space. I can still see all their eyes on me, still hear that voice saying-“

“You are not still there, Maccus.” Davy Jones interrupted Maccus, as he saw his first mate begin to breathe quicker and shallower, and his words become so hasty in his mouth that the captain could scarcely discern them any longer.

Davy Jones rested a hand on Maccus’ shoulder in an attempt to calm him. He remembered well that day. He remembered the charge. But he did not wish to hear repeated such vile words. Jones had already lived it long ago, when he had wielded his rank for the final time to get Maccus down from the gallows, and given up his own life of comfort to pursue a life of piracy with Maccus. It had been the only way to make certain his friend lived to see the light of the next dawn.

“Do you remember when you stole that apple from Mrs. Highgate when we were boys?” Davy asked, trying to pull Maccus out of his tortured memories and into better ones.

Maccus laughed slightly, baring his needle sharp teeth in a grimacing smile. He let go of his head where he had been cradling it, one hand around each side of the shark’s hammer head. His eyes were still glimmering with tears, but as always, he was trying to follow his captain’s directives.

“She was so angry, she made you buy the whole lot for me.” The first mate dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, which was probably not advisable given what manner of foul things were growing on their bodies. “Oh Davy, you were so innocent and polite back then.”

“Admirable virtues, I suppose.” The captain commented, two of his tentacles gone rummaging in his great coat for something, and each emerging respectively with a fine silver pipe, encircled and cradled by molded crab legs, and a small pouch of tabacco.

“For the child that you were, perhaps. If you had any virtue left to you now, I would have long since gutted you and thrown you overboard, to have this ship for myself.” Maccus said in a low voice.

It was said mostly in jest, but Davy Jones took the sentiment to be perfectly true.

Although there was a mutual long standing and deep affection between the two that enabled Maccus to have this candidacy with his captain, Davy was certain the first mate would do what he had to if Davy Jones proved himself more liability than asset. It was part of the reason he made such a good first mate.

Perhaps selfishly, the captain still hoped it would cause Maccus at least a little pain to do so, even though he would have expected nothing less. They had, after all, no official licence of loyalty to each other.

As Davy turned the tobacco pouch in one tentacle over his pipe, and lit it, his mind couldn’t help wandering.

He looked at Maccus, and he knew he trusted that man with his life, should his life prove worth enough to save. He looked at his first mate, and he saw the person whom he most respected and admired on the ship. Looking at that wide shark’s head, the fold of his unseeing eye, the permanently twisted grimace of his mouth, he saw a man who was competent, intelligent, who was willing to do what he must for the benefit of many.

He and Maccus had known each other since they were practically children — although their younger selves would have protested at such a notion of infancy — and he had to admit to himself that he cared for Maccus more deeply than anyone else on this ship. In fact, more deeply than anyone he had ever known since Calypso.

What that meant? The captain couldn’t be sure. And perhaps, he wouldn’t allow himself to elaborate further.

“Well, rest assured old friend, there are no virtues here. Only vices.” Davy Jones puffed out smoke, the ashen cloud exiting through the breathing tentacle on the side of his head.

The tentacle that was gripping the pipe uncurled slowly, extending itself out to Maccus, proffering the pipe to him.

It was a beautiful thing. The bowl of it made out of whalebone, with crab claws delicately carved around it, seemingly holding the bowl steady. The mouth piece was made out of rare silver mined from the bottom of the sea. All in all, an exquisitely precious item to the captain.

Maccus looked down at the pipe offered to him, eye widening in surprise.

He hesitated for a moment, the captain had never shared a smoke with him before. Tobacco was expensive and not such an easy find. Not to mention the difficulty that came with trying to keep the stuff dry on this ship.

Finally though, the first mate decided not to keep the captain waiting, and tentatively took the pipe from him. With a sort of anxious care, he brought the mouthpiece to his own lips and inhaled a few breaths of the smoke.

Casually, Davy Jones held out his tentacle again, and Maccus handed it back to him for the captain to smoke a moment.

“Do you ever regret it?” Maccus asked softly, but the sentiment was undercut slightly by the coughing fit that shook his voice.

“Hmm?” Davy Jones asked absentmindedly, focusing suddenly very much on inhaling smoke from the pipe. “Maccus, I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate. I’m certainly a man full of regrets.”

“Saving me, I mean.”

Davy Jones had been in the midst of passing the smoking pipe back over to Maccus, and Maccus had instinctively reached to take it from him, but now the captain had frozen. His tentacle held the smoking pipe aloft, while Maccus’ clawed hand hovered just underneath expectantly, becoming more hesitant with each passing second.

The captain’s sharp blue eyes searched out Maccus’, but the first mate was avoiding his gaze, looking at the deck instead.

“Are you being serious? Is that some kind of joke?” Davy Jones asked, but it came out as more of a demand. Maccus didn’t know why he seemed so angry, but the skin around the captain’s eyes was scrunched as he scowled.

“I only mean…you gave up your whole life, your whole comfortable life, to save me. And now we’re here. You must…you must have regrets. It’s only logical. No one would blame you for it. I certainly wouldn’t.” Maccus started, beginning to blabber and hesitate as Davy fixed those pale eyes on him in a vice-like hold.

“Maccus.” Davy interrupted Maccus’ quickly derailing ramble. “I thought you were a sensible man. Am I to believe I put the ship in the charge of an imbecile?”

“I…” Maccus was now staring at Davy Jones, wide eyed, completely taken aback by the direction of the conversation. “No. No, not at all, sir.”

“Then why would you ask me such an idiotic question?”

“Well, I…I suppose-“

“Before rescuing you from the gallows, I had already been discussing romantic ideas of running from all responsibility, hadn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“I would have become a pirate at some point regardless. You just sped up the process. And even then, being a pirate was simply one event along the unfortunate course that my life has taken. It was certainly not the cause. The credit for our situation lies solely on my shoulders. Do you understand?”

Maccus looked away again, but he had the faintest smile on his face. Davy had such a strange way of reassuring someone. He was aggressive, he was loud, and at times cruel. But the curtness in his responses had served to help Maccus snap out of more than one dire thought.

“I suppose I must.”

“Therefore, there is no conceivable reason I could possibly regret saving your life.” Davy Jones pressed.

He shifted around in the hammock, eventually heaving himself out of it and walking over to the wall, where he had leant his cane for the duration of that conversation.

Maccus was still staring at him, and Davy Jones took the opportunity to brush down his coat and adjust his grip on his cane.

“Besides, you have been a valuable first mate, and a skilled pirate. It would be rather a shame if you’d gone and died that day. And for no reason at all. At least now, you are committing actual crimes.”

“A-actual crimes? Right. You’re right.” Maccus stood up too and flexed the aching lobster legs on his back, which always went stiff in the mornings after he’d slept on them.

“Speaking of crime.” Davy continued on briskly, paying no mind to Maccus’ hesitance. His word was law. Maccus and the others would have to accept that. He would not tolerate a word to the contrary, even aimed at oneself.

“You will have to be punished for your insolence when we appear in front of the rest of the crew. Not turning up for duties in the morning is unacceptable. Especially for a man of such…” The captain looked Maccus up and down for a moment, his gaze lingering. “…importance.”

“Of course, of course.” Maccus said, ducking his head in acknowledgement.

Maccus and Davy Jones were practically founders of the crew, they knew how things were run. How they had been run for 150 years. They both knew what was necessary.

—

“Ah, here’s the lazy sod.” Penrod said, crouching on top of a crate to peer at the emerging Maccus, followed by the captain.

Maccus bared his sharp, pointed shark’s teeth at Penrod in a vicious snarl. The first mate wanted to say that he wasn’t such an idiot that he would actually sleep in and forget his duties, but he couldn’t. To tell them he’d been sat alone, wallowing in his sadness until the captain fetched him, would be much worse.

“What’ll it be, captain?” Jimmy legs asked immediately, stepping out from the crowd of pirates eagerly to face Davy Jones. The man thrived on pain, be it from anyone but himself.

Davy Jones looked subtly to the side, catching Maccus in his peripheral. The first mate was standing tall, with his chin high and gaze proud. He was certainly a brave and disciplined man, that could not be doubted.

“Five lashes.”

It was the bare minimum Davy Jones could afford to give.

“Very well. I’ll prepare my whip-“ Jimmy legs began, but Davy held out his claw to stop him.

“I shall deal the punishment out personally. Maccus is, after all, the first mate. I can’t have someone of less authority thinking they have a right to put him in his place. Ideas like that are dangerous, are they not, Bosun?”

Jones reached out his tentacle hand, waiting for Jimmy Legs’ to hand over his whip. One of his eyebrows was raised carefully, eyes fixed firmly on the Bosun in challenge.

The captain never dealt out lashes himself. It was either the Bosun, or someone that Jones wanted to punish in themselves. Someone soft-hearted, not accustomed to being on the ship.

A few tense moments elapsed as Jimmy Legs stared stonily into the captain’s eyes. He clearly wanted to challenge the order, to question the captain’s motives. But even he wouldn’t dare.

“Yes.” He replied finally, breaking the building tension that had rendered the air stiff and unbreathable. “That would be dangerous.”

The Bosun handed over the whip handle first, but when the captain grasped it, Jimmy Legs didn’t let go straight away. It took another breath, and a low warning snarl from the captain, like he was some kind of feral animal, before the Bosun let Davy Jones yank it out of his hand.

“Careful now, Bosun. I am the captain of this godforsaken vessel.” Davy Jones reminded him darkly, before stepping past the bitter looking man.

That you are.” Jimmy legs muttered. With an angry twist of his heel, he turned and gestured for two of the crew, Palifico and Ogilvey, to step forward and each grab hold of Maccus.

Maccus snatched his arms away and glared at them, bearing his fangs. Then he marched proudly forward with his head high to receive the lashings, taking up the position himself and removing the belt that crossed his torso.

Maccus needed no one to hold him down, as he made abundantly clear, digging in his own claws into the wood as he turned his vulnerable back on Davy Jones.

The captain, watching the entire admirable display, felt a sort of cold drip into his stomach as he realized something.

He didn’t want to hurt Maccus.

But with all eyes on them, and the scene he had made with Jimmy legs, he couldn’t back out of it now. And even besides that, giving Maccus to the Bosun would have simply made him feel worse.

Slowly, Davy Jones let the whip unfurl and trail against the deck. Maccus, facing away from him, closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. As stoic as he liked to play these things, whip lashes fucking hurt, no matter who you were. And especially when you had live lobster legs attached to your back.

Nothing could be done for it, and the captain was forced to dole out the punishment he had so insisted on. As was expected, Maccus buckled under the blows, crying out in pain, and several crew members had to rush to hold him up for the following lashes.

Davy winced as he saw the legs on Maccus’ back panic and cartwheel around uselessly in the air, bearing the brunt of the attacks. So much so that on the fifth and final lash, one of them split in half, the severed bit falling sadly to the deck.

The dismembered leg quivered pathetically on the ground for a few seconds, then fell still.

‘The Bosun would have done worse.’ Davy Jones reminded himself as he watched Ogilvey and Palifico carry Maccus away to see his wounds treated.

He would have. Davy Jones knew Jimmy Legs would have. He prided himself on causing the most damage possible. And normally, that didn’t bother Davy. On the contrary, it made an example out of anyone who opposed him.

But this time…this time he hadn’t wanted that to happen. This time, the idea of Maccus being shredded by the whip made Davy feel ill.

Maccus was more than just some unfortunate soul the Dutchman had happened to drag back from the brink of death into a pitiful, extended existence. Maccus was…he was Davy’s first mate.

Had there been anyone more loyal, more true, more trusted than him? Had there ever been someone so dedicated, so straightforward and capable, so perfect for the role? Had there ever been a pirate who fit so perfectly beside the captain, to the point that it was impossible to imagine another taking his place?

Maccus was all of that. He was the most precious first mate Davy Jones had ever had the pleasure to sail with. But it wasn’t just his many marketable skills that earned him both the captain’s respect and his budding (perhaps more so flowering) affections.

With Maccus, Davy Jones could talk, he could confide in. The first mate looked at him in appreciation when the captain played his music, when he wrote his poetry, or when he sketched the Dutchman for the hundredth time from a new angle as the ship changed and grew with time, alive with its own beating existence. Maccus knew it all, from the strange to the downright despicable, but still he stayed.

Davy Jones had found in him a strange sort of wisdom. The wisdom of a man who had never known anything more than the will to survive, the frantic desperation of trying to live in a world that wanted only to tear you down for arbitrary laws written in hate and malice. Maccus had never known peace, he had never known stability, or comfort. He knew only to appreciate what he had in the moment, and to move ever forward into the future.

There were moments where he lingered on the past, but never so much as the captain, who seemed unable to step out of his own personal limbo of pain and suffering, unable to take that first step forwards while the first mate ran ever onwards. Had he not been so loyal to Davy, the captain was sure Maccus would have found a way off the Dutchman by now and started anew. It was once again a testament to Maccus’ bravery and diligence that he’d stayed.

And that was how their relationship had developed.

Davy was the foundation, the methodical and the calculated, indulgent nonetheless in flights of romantic fancy. Maccus was the drive behind the solidity that was the captain. He pushed Davy forward, propelled them both through life. Maccus lent Davy his will to fight, and Davy helped him to live for more than mere fleeting moments.

The Dutchman, strange and terrible and painful as she was now, provided Maccus with a stability and safety he had never before known. There was comfort in monotony for Maccus, the surety that if he were punished, it would be for something he had done, rather than something he simply was.

There were many, many moments where Davy and Maccus didn’t truly understand each other. Where Maccus simply nodded while Davy ranted about the beauty of rhythms and notes, and Davy bit his lip to keep from interrupting Maccus as he explained his childhood, and what he had always known to be true and right.

But they did that for each other. They tried to understand one another, but when they didn’t it had no real impact on their concentration on and appreciation for the passion of the other.

Davy Jones wordlessly shoved the whip back into Jimmy Legs’ hands.

Maccus’ blood dripped from its length onto the captain’s shoes. Red, raw, human. It was real blood. That is to say, Davy Jones finally perceived it as real blood. The blood of another that didn’t belong on the barnacled toe of his boot, but rather in that person’s body. The well being of that body for which he happened to care for very much.

The captain’s gaze was far from the Bosun, instead fixed on the doorway Maccus had just disappeared through to rest and recover. However, when he started towards it, the Bosun made a very ill-considered move. The one of getting in the captain’s way.

“Cap’n, what are you doing? Maccus has duties, someone needs to get the ship in order for the day. The first mate mustn’t be coddled! He will take punishment like everyone else-“

“Shut up!” Jones hissed, pivoting on his good leg to face Jimmy Legs. “Or I swear to you, that whip will be out of your hands and tearing out the skin of your back before you can utter another putrid word.”

Jimmy Legs found that this outcome had in fact not been the one he had wanted at all. Luckily for him, the captain didn’t give him enough of a chance to protest before he left the main deck to find his first mate.

“Where is he?” Davy Jones demanded, as soon as he saw Ogilvey rushing through the corridors with his arms full of bandages.

The captain was led to the room where the crew all slept, and once again found Maccus in his hammock. Except this time he was face down and quivering silently in pain. The flesh of his back was a spider web of thin red cuts, but it was the lobster legs on him that begged anyone’s attentions.

Aside from the one that had snapped in half, the others were terribly damaged, sustaining deep wounds that left them hanging limp at odd angles. A few twitched and wriggled as Palifico took out large splinters from the ship and touched them to each leg to check that they were the appropriate lengths for a splint.

Maccus groaned quietly when Palifico, having accepted the bandages from Ogilvey, started wrapping up each leg with the appropriate splint. It didn’t look like a comfortable process.

“Will they grow back? Will they heal?” Davy demanded of Palifico, as if his bodyguard knew any more medicine than he did. In fact, Davy Jones probably knew the most out of anyone on this ship, given that he had received a wealthy education. And yet, that still didn’t constitute much, since he hadn’t studied much of the sciences.

Palifico shrugged, turning empty, soulless eyes on Davy Jones, his joints emitting loud cracking noises as the coral rubbed together.

“Davy?” Maccus asked, his voice muffled against the material of his hammock.

He could recognize those irregular footsteps. The extra tap of the cane against the floor. Most of all, he could recognize the voice. Anyone could recognize that voice. Davy had perhaps the most distinctive voice Maccus had ever heard, and he had spent his life since meeting the Scotsman listening out for it.

Maccus couldn’t help wondering why Davy Jones had come down to see him minutes after personally giving his first mate the lash, even if he could fully understand why the captain had done it. And Maccus knew that not only was it necessary, but Davy had been protecting him from a much worse punishment.

Still, he thought the sting of the whip from the captain’s hand, especially after Davy and Maccus had had such a sensitive conversation, was far worse than any flesh rendering blow that the Bosun could have delivered with all his vengeance and hate.

Maccus trusted Davy, even if he probably (definitely) should not. He believed that he could tell the captain things that he couldn’t tell anyone else, that the captain would protect him should the need arise. And this whipping was another reminder that Davy didn’t really merit that complete faith. He was in a position where all he knew of how to control his crew was violence, which bred a yet more violent and disruptive crew.

Maccus missed the days where he was the rough and tumble young lad who had to protect his skinny musician friend.

“Maccus, how are you?” Davy Jones asked, and Maccus could feel the captain’s eyes sweep the length of his body from head to toe, even though the first mate couldn’t see him, anxiously checking for injuries.

“Not well.” Maccus grunted as Ogilvey and Palifico withdrew from the room quietly and discreetly, exchanging odd, sort of hopeful looks.

The first mate started struggling to sit in his hammock, adjusting to the feeling of having his crustacean legs restricted and straightened out. He looked more like a sad porcupine than anything else at that moment.

“Let me help.” Davy Jones said quickly, shooting forward with surprising agility to take a hold of Maccus’ forearm and help steady him.

Maccus pulled his arm out of Davy’s grip once he was righted, and looked away at the far wall slightly next to the captain’s head to maintain an illusion of eye contact. He didn’t want to seem weak in front of his captain.

“Don’t bother yourself. You probably have plenty of duties to attend to given my tardiness this morning. My apologies.”

Even Maccus could tell that the stiffness in his voice and manner was hardly subtle. It was painfully evident that the first mate was upset with his captain.

“I do. And since you aren’t working right now I’ll have—“

“My mistake.” Maccus shoved his hands hard into the material of the hammock beside his hips in an attempt to lift himself to his feet. It was much too aggressive, massively overshooting the energy that would actually be required of such an action, and he only succeeded in nearly tipping himself backwards again. “I’ll get back to my duties, captain.”

“Maccus.” Davy Jones bit out, grabbing hold of the first mate’s arm in a vice-like grip. His voice was edged with desperation, and something darker, a darker something that lined his eyes with fire. “That is not what I was inferring. Let me finish.”

Maccus was still. For the first time, when he met the captain’s eyes Maccus’ too were tough as diamonds. Sharp, cutting, and bright. They searched out Davy’s with their own challenge.

A sort of electric pulse shot through the air between them then, and the little living barnacles on the backs of their arms lifted like hairs. For the first time in a long time, Maccus was not acting like Davy’s subordinate. They were finally back on an even playing field, one where neither of them could claim the sort of more professional distance that was ‘captain’ and ‘first mate’ on which they had separated themselves for decades.

“Finish then,” Maccus said lowly, allowing Davy Jones’ to tighten his tentacle’s grip on his arm. There were another few significant moments that passed before he added, “Captain.”

“I…” For a moment, the captain lost focus. Maccus had swum into vision, startling, crystal clear vision.

In front of him stood a loyal friend, a capable man, a strong and fierce pirate. And to him, at that moment, Davy Jones was just a man. He wasn’t the pirate captain he’d spent several bitter decades building himself up to be. It was like Maccus, before everyone, had torn down everything Jones had created in order to protect himself.

Maccus tilted his head to the side, watching the captain’s mystifying reaction to his blatant insubordination. A change had just descended upon Davy, and he was looking at Maccus in a completely different light.

He was looking at Maccus. Looking into his eyes.

Maccus suddenly felt very overwhelmed. He had the captain’s complete and unwavering attention, and it was like having the sun’s rays and all the stars pointed in your direction, so that you might bask in their ever warm gaze.

Was it getting hot in that room?

Davy was preparing to whip Maccus again, that had to be it. And no one could blame Maccus for thinking so when Davy was holding on to him in the manner that he was.

The tentacle on his hand wound tighter, and tighter, and tighter, grinding the bones of Maccus’ wrist eventually harder together until he was forced to let out a yell of pain.

“Fuck! Let me go!”

Something snapped in that room. A change so sudden and violent that it could be felt physically between the two, as if they had been slapped hard across the face.

Davy suddenly let go of Maccus’ arm and stepped back, blinking quickly as if he had had no awareness of what he had been doing in the slightest. He lifted his shaking hand and inspected it, as if expecting to find some kind of mark there as he quivered. Finding nothing, he lifted his eyes to Maccus, and looked away just as quickly.

“You’re dismissed.”

——

The rest of the day saw Maccus back to working, toiling under the hot sun, ignoring all the jibes and concerns thrown at the many splits on his back. His mind was occupied by too many other things to be concerned with the physical pain he may be feeling at that moment. Or rather, the entirety of his mind was focused on one thing. One person.

And yet, that person was nowhere to be found. Not that that was unusual for the captain these days.

Davy Jones used to be a much more diligent and attentive captain, renowned for his nautical skills and cunning, as well as the practised effectiveness of his own crew. They trained each other, exchanged knowledge and abilities, and in that way they were always being rendered stronger and more unified.

These days, not seeing him for several hours, or even an entire day, was commonplace. And he played music whenever the fancy took him. He had no need to be constantly vigilant, no one would dare attack the Dutchman, the ferry of the dead. Why would he even need to continuing training with his crew? They were the most dangerous things on the seas already, and nothing could threaten that.

Still, Maccus had expected to see him on deck. He had expected the captain to come speak to him personally after that morning’s strangeness. He didn’t know why, but he’d expected it. And now whenever someone called Maccus’ name or tapped his shoulder, he jumped to attention. It was never Davy.

The day was drawing to a close as Maccus inspected the ship, making sure everything was well put away, and everyone had executed their respective duties to an acceptable level. It didn’t take long for him to find a few spots where the crew had slacked off, but he let it slide, too tired to throw up a fuss. He was only glad that the sun was setting on this cursed anniversary of sorts, and that he would not have to face it again for another year yet.

The events of this day had certainly not helped his phobia of the date. He now had new anxieties to add to the hefty list he’d drawn up in his mind, but he was glad of the opportunity to wash his hands of it at least.

Maccus straightened up from a crouch holding the discarded severed head of a fish in one hand and not looking happy about it.

“Really, some people.” He sniffed, tossing it out to sea angrily and watching it arc through the air. Its eyes were wide and frozen, stuck stiffly in the same pose, glistening bright white where it caught the light of the setting sun on the sea before being swallowed up by the ocean waves.

“I guess our minds are becoming more animal-like too.” A voice behind him mused casually, and Maccus stepped back and stumbled in surprise and shock.

His foot caught and slipped on the fish’s dismembered tail, and Maccus felt his body careening backwards, his arms flailing out uselessly around him like a baby bird pushed too early out of its nest.

The first mate felt someone catch him in their arms, and he knew exactly who it must be. Fate couldn’t resist getting in one more moment of torture on this day before the sun finally set again.

Davy Jones looked down at him with a concerned expression, lips pressed together and twisted, the muscle of his eyebrow arched high above one of his pale blue eyes.

“Maccus?”

“Yes, cap’n!” Maccus replied quickly, desperately removing himself from the captain’s muscular grip. “I’m fine!”

“Oh, well….that’s good, then.” Davy said awkwardly, allowing Maccus to extricate himself from the situation with no protest. He didn’t want to cause a scene. Especially given the private nature of what the captain had come to see Maccus about.

“About what happened earlier I…that was clumsy of me. I want you to rest. I don’t want…” Davy Jones looked around, at a loss for words, and finally managed to wave a hand around in the general vicinity of his first mate. “—-this. You getting hurt. I never want that.”

Maccus was unsure what to do with the rising, unidentifiable tension in the air. It was the kind he had longed for all his life in a safer environment like the Dutchman. The kind he would have sold a left foot for if only to experience for a moment. The kind of feeling of expectation people like him only got a glimpse of in fairy tales.

“No, I know. If your crew — especially your first mate — gets hurt it slows down the ship’s processes.”

Davy Jones shook his head, and he took a step closer. Maccus’ heart was beating very fast. He didn’t know what was going on, but something very essential had changed between them. Something Maccus had always wished for, and yet he had no idea how to process the ways it was fundamentally changing their relationship.

“No. I mean. When you get hurt, I feel…different. Mournful. Sad. Like if my heart was still here.” Davy lifted his claw and brought it to his chest, jabbing at the place where a heart would usually be located, if you weren’t a cursed octopus creature.

“I don’t understand.” Maccus said, his voice hushed, quiet, searching for some familiarity he could cling to.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I want to…what’s the opposite of hurting someone?” The captain was frozen on the spot now, gazing at Maccus, tentacles flicking slowly, wavering around like they were being ruffled in a gentle breeze. He was struggling to find his words. It was unlike him.

“Well, uhm…I suppose the opposite of hurting someone would be,” Maccus searched his mind, grateful for the temporary distraction to gather his thoughts. Since when was he the wordy one? Well, he supposed that at least hadn’t changed, because he couldn’t quite find an answer either. “Making them happy.”

Davy continued gazing at Maccus, and the first mate felt thrown. Was that not the right answer? He didn’t know how to think when it seemed like they were meeting for the first time all over again. Like they had found something in each other that had never been there before.

Finally, the captain did speak, easing the silence between them.

“You’re my most loyal crewmember. You keep the ship running, you’re highly skilled, you’ve never disappointed me. I hope you’ll be gracious enough to accept my returning the favour.” Davy said, taking a deep breath before he added. “Of my own loyalty, that is.”

“For the betterment of the crew, of course.” Maccus said, although the sentiment was weak, and they both felt it.

“Oh, of course. Of course.” Davy Jones nodded, although the first mate could see the hint of a nervous smile appear that was beginning to match his own. “It would simply be the most practical thing for the crew to see a unified captain and first mate.”

Maccus and Davy Jones looked at each other, and the lap of water against the ship seemed deafening. What they had both said seemed perfectly true, but the reader would be excused for thinking that perhaps something lay deeper than practical reasoning.

The captain had a small box in his hands. It was simple and rough, and cautiously, he extended it out for Maccus to take.

Equally cautiously, Maccus accepted it. He didn’t know what was going on, or what this really meant, but Davy was trying to give him something, and he would always follow orders.

Inside, there was a small gold ring threaded onto a heavy leather cord. It was inlaid with a pinkish-whitish stone, and far finer than anything Maccus had owned before.

“Is this..?” Maccus asked, suddenly feeling a little panicked at the sight of the ring.

“Oh, no!” The captain blurted out quickly, gesturing his claw and tentacle hand quickly to emphasise his point. “Not at all.”

Davy stepped closer, carefully lifting the ring up on its cord with his crab claw. His gaze was exceedingly gentle, reminding Maccus of his old self. The compassionate, intelligent, artistic sailor who only wanted to live free on the seas in a romantic, novel worthy adventure that would never have been possible.

“I used to wear this, as well as a number of other pieces of jewellery. It was given to me as a child.” The captain’s eyes were focused on the ring, a sort of wistful, longing expression. But then he raised his eyes to Maccus, and he smiled slightly. “The stone is rose quartz. It represents acceptance and love.”

Maccus felt his throat seize up, and his heart stopped beating for a sole moment. Suddenly, he remembered what Davy had said to him that morning;

‘For actual crimes’.

He knew how difficult this day was for his first mate, what the scars, the jokes, the bruises meant for Maccus. That this day was about more than just the fact that Maccus had nearly died. That it represented his struggle, and the struggle of everyone like them.

And he’d done it on a day that had been immortalised to Maccus as a constant reminder that he would never be able to have what others could on a whim.

Maccus couldn’t understand, this all seemed to be a blatant refusal of facts he had known to be true his entire life.

Davy was given this ring when he was young and still had family and friends and a life. It was important to him. It was a part of him. And he was giving it to Maccus. He wanted Maccus to have it, a stone symbolizing…

“I thought you needed new memories.” Davy watched Maccus’ stunned reaction, resisting the urge to smile, or to lay a hand on his first mate’s shoulder.

If he couldn’t have his luxuries anymore, he wanted Maccus to. And the idea that his friend would have something of his, that it might mean so much to him, it only made Davy Jones that much more attached to the ring. Maccus, by having this, could share it with his captain. It was something Davy had worn all his life, given to him as a family heirloom in his home in Scotland, and now it was Maccus’. He wanted Maccus to know that he was important enough for that.

“Happy St. Valentine’s Day, Maccus.” Davy Jones said quietly, turning to leave after several moments of silence had elapsed.

“Wait, Valentine’s? I-…that’s not…” Maccus began, but he trailed off as the captain met his gaze steadily again, his pale blue eyes glittering slightly with mischief.

Maccus had never had a Valentine’s Day. It felt strange in a way. This day was never meant to be that for him. The people who had hung him that day, they had meant it as a statement; ‘This doesn’t belong to you.’

Now the first mate found that perhaps it did.

“Happy Valentines, Cap’n.” Maccus replied, lifting up the necklace and clasping it around his neck, for his head was much too wide for it to fit over.

The captain was headed down the stairs, probably to his rooms to sleep. He turned his head over one shoulder and said, smirking. “It’s only practical, of course. It does make the most sense, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, it does make a lot of sense. Loyal captain and his loyal first mate. Been around each other too long, I’d say.”

Davy’s laugh echoed around the ship, welcoming the sun to set, and finally putting the day to a close. Maccus, who had been wishing for this very thing only moments before, was now loath to see the stars take their places in the night sky.

#submission #maccus #fanfiction #potc #davy jones #pirates of the caribbean #the flying dutchman #round 5

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merakiui · 1 year

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Mera, here is your encouragement. That Riddle thought, we need more. Give us a part 2! It was so chilling as an opener. Let's see where you take it!

Aaaa thank you for encouragement!!! I'm so happy to know many found the idea interesting! I wanted to write it with characters like the trio, but they're already accustomed to covering up crimes and shady business. Jade hits you with his car and he'd just dump your body somewhere desolate so it can rot away. Floyd probably takes your body to Jade so the two of them can work to dismember it and scatter the pieces amidst the sea. And Azul finds ways to put various parts to use if they're required for potions. In other words, it wouldn't really faze them (the twins probably wouldn't bat much of an eye. Azul might panic, but it's because your blood got all over his nice sports car). That, and the fact that they're from the sea and have probably witnessed the food chain in a much more gruesome, direct way than humans do on land adds to their unruffled nature when they see gore.

With Riddle, the gravity of the situation is much more horrifying and heavy because he's lived his entire life following rules and could never do anything illegal or immoral. Yet here he is covering his tracks, trying to act normal at work, doing his best to lie with a straight face when you seem so hopeful and trusting that he (an established doctor who must always be truthful in his profession) will actually, truly let you go once you can walk again. (spoilers: he can't let you go.)

I think what makes it so eerie is that Riddle is such a logical, morally correct character who could never commit a crime. But life is uncertain and accidents happen. He can't be perfect, no matter how much he may try, and so once he's hit you he comes to this horrifying realization that his world is splintering and that one little mistake could be his downfall.

He's already hit someone, he's already swept evidence under the rug, and now he's kidnapped you. What's one more offense added to the growing list? Riddle is breaking with each day spent living with this secret, and I want to portray the raw, animalistic fear and paranoia a character like Riddle will feel when trying to continue a slowly crumbling façade.

#twisted chit chat #rendy-a #he's going to suffer immensely and i cannot wait to portray that >:)

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artknifeandglue · 6 days

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as shattered stars shine: DVD Commentary (part 2/12)

stopping at chapter 2 for today!

Discharge paperwork takes fucking forever to fill out, what with billing and insurance claims and unique forms of bureaucratic torment that the Devil himself must have developed on a slow day in Hell.

I am not American, and I love my country’s healthcare system, but sadly I imagine the paperwork involved in a hospital admission must be much the same everywhere.

“Next time,” he informs Harry, “try to get shot in a country where healthcare is cheaper.”

“Duly noted,” Harry answers calmly, unruffled by Merlin’s prickly demeanour, “though I’d assumed you would want me to not be shot at all.”

Merlin’s scowl only deepens. “Never stopped you, did it?”

Merlin is Done With This Man. Thirty years of dealing with Harry Hart’s bullshit will probably do that to someone.

He’s read the reports and seen the same story played out the world over: the mass casualties flooding into emergency rooms from all directions, all bearing grotesque injuries from Valentine’s attempt to recreate The Purge; patients upon patients spilling out into the hallways where hurriedly parked beds sit pushed up against the walls in an attempt to make space where there is already horrifyingly little, the wards at full capacity and then some; hundreds and thousands of bodies littering the land and gradually finding their way into mortuaries and funeral homes and crematoria alongside the onslaught of hospital deaths, coroners and morticians and public servants vainly trying to empty the constantly full fridges by tracking down identities and next-of-kin and contact details to arrange burials or cremations or something; memorials for the dead and dying amidst the spiralling numbers of both, barely making a dent in the mounting lists of names to be printed in ink or carved on stone.

None of which they would have found for Harry, because the same Kingsman that leaves its dead agents where they lie also covers its tracks well. Eggsy grits his teeth and keeps walking, keeps putting one foot in front of the other, stares straight ahead at the cheerful green sign pointing him towards the hospital entrance. Harry’s fine. Harry’s alive.

But he wasn’t, a small voice whispers in the back of Eggsy’s mind, the one that refuses to let go of the haunting image of an unclaimed, unknown body in an ocean of empty eyes and empty faces, cold and still and lost, soon to disappear into the earth or the sea. Eggsy shoves it to the back of his mind as he keeps walking, step after step until the sterile white lighting of the hospital gives way to sunlight that blazes down on him, an experience not unlike stepping out into the fires of hell.

Once again, the sun is not exempt from the “stars are not to be trusted” principle. Featured here also is Eggsy’s unwillingness to let Harry disappear among the innumerable dead in V-Day – too much emotional attachment to let that happen, and the only reason it did was that he couldn’t do anything about it.

He pauses, eyes scanning the shelves for a moment before he pulls a bottle of scotch from the second shelf and studies it carefully. Other than maybe two or three drinks’ worth missing, the bottle is still mostly full. “Someone’s pilfered my whisky,” Harry notes.

“That would be me,” Merlin answers from behind them, and Eggsy turns to see Merlin stepping out from behind the cockpit door. “In my defence, it seemed like fair game at the time. We did think you were dead for a while.”

“Evidently I am not, and so this is once again off-limits to you,” Harry returns smoothly, reaching for a glass and pouring a drink. Probably not for himself, Eggsy thinks.

“Ingrate,” Merlin jibes as he joins them at the bar, leaning against the counter. “I flew all the way out here to fish you out of that awful hospital, and you repay me by denying me good scotch. Bloody Galahads.”

“Oy, fuck off,” Eggsy protests. “What’re you coming at me for?”

“You have a particular talent for doing everything you shouldn’t be doing. Also, your taste in music is disgraceful.”

Manly bonding session through giving each other a hard time. Also, I think Eggsy and Merlin would actively try and get on one another’s nerves by hijacking each other’s Spotify playlists or Bluetooth speakers.

Well, since. Percival installed a fish tank in his office last month; Bors has got a new car, a sleek Aston Martin that looks amazing and handles like a dream, and no one is allowed anywhere within a hundred metres of that beauty; Ector surfaced two weeks after V-Day by stomping into the shop delirious and covered in mud and snow and blood, loudly demanding to know if anyone had bothered to water the succulents in his office (“So did anyone?” “Merlin didn’t even know he liked plants, bruv. The lot of ‘em died.”); Roxy’s got a second dog because the vet said Lady Audrey was lonely, and Lady Evie is an absolute chaos gremlin of a dog with a fondness for stealing Eggsy’s shoes and hiding them every time he stops by Roxy’s place.

Yes, that Aston Martin, the James Bond car. Hugh Grant is Ector. Lady Evie is an English Cocker Spaniel. I will not be taking questions.

“Holy shit,” Eggsy blurts out, “you’re real.”

“Of course I am.” The man from that strange dream raises an eyebrow at him. “Would you mind sitting back down? You’ll ruin the armrest.”

Eggsy just stares. “How the fuck—”

“—am I here? So predictable,” the man drawls. “Powers beyond your understanding, Eggsy Unwin. Same way I brought him—” he gestures in the direction of the bathroom where Harry is, “—back when you asked. Really, I’m a little insulted. I pull a whole human life out of the clutches of Death, and you think I can’t get onto a plane?”

If you haven’t read Goethe’s Faust, I highly recommend reading it just to encounter sassy Mephistopheles. Goethe’s character is very much the inspiration for Mephistopheles in this: mildly amused by humanity, always ready with a witty comment, endearing and offputting at the same time.

Instead, Eggsy closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, focusing on Harry’s presence opposite him, living and breathing. Harry Hart is alive, and that is enough.

That will always be enough.

One of the motifs of this fic, but also one of the core tenets: they’ll fight death because what matters most is being able to be with one another in this life, here and now, and separation is unthinkable for both of them.

Harry’s changed too, just a little. Medical predictably refuses to clear him for fieldwork until they can investigate the long-term impact of the gunshot wound, but it isn’t the crippling

bolt-from-the-blue headaches that has them in a whirlwind of activity. Instead, an offhand comment Harry makes during a walk in the garden sends everyone scrambling when he asks Merlin, “Were there always this many butterflies?” only for Merlin to glance out at a completely empty field and immediately summon every neuropsychiatrist in Kingsman’s employ.

Ha. We still get the butterflies! Much as I think we give the second movie a hard time, I liked the idea that Harry can deal with the visual hallucinations and still be a perfectly competent spy. Plus, it gives me an opening to have Mephistopheles start popping up around Harry quite a bit without raising alarm bells for Eggsy, because Harry spends a good chunk of time believing Mephisto is a hallucination too.

“Just here to see how you’re holding up. Satisfied with our bargain?”

“Yeah, about that.” Eggsy jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. “You said you weren’t going to cheat. What’re you playing at with the butterflies?”

“What exactly do you think it is that I do?” The arched eyebrow and folded arms only make the visitor look even more supercilious than before. Eggsy hadn’t known that was possible. “There’s only so much I can do when someone gets shot in the head, you know. You’re lucky I even got his eye back.”

And on that note, were the butterflies intentional sabotage on Mephistopheles’ part? Initially, I was going to write them that way, but then I figured Mephistopheles could read them both well enough to know how to make Harry sell his soul too. They say the Devil is an excellent salesman, and there’s already enough in Harry to manipulate/tap on without having to add something to it. Plus, the idea that even the Devil can’t do everything is fun, so I suppose this is a completely harmless form of the “came back wrong” trope.

In the end, for all the grand gestures Eggsy can think of, the truth slips out in the middle of not very much at all. It happens on the most unremarkable of Wednesday afternoons, after Eggsy has again made himself comfortable in Harry’s office all day to while away the rest of his mandatory downtime.

Up to this point, Eggsy’s love for Harry has been (to his knowledge, at least) unrequited, and he hasn’t exactly had any signs that his affections are reciprocated. In light of this, an accidental confession seems to be the right way to get them both moving. Also, I recognise one of the issues that comes up in a relationship with a large age gap (despite them both being consenting adults) is power distribution and the power dynamic, and I attempt to tackle some of that in Harry’s segment, so I’ll reserve the commentary for then. Then again, I suppose if you’ve read an entire Hartwin fic, you’re already on board with the ship and I’m preaching to the choir here, haha.

The momentary break in eye contact is enough to jolt the rest of his body into action, and his feet start carrying him towards the door, towards the most sensible path of escape.

“Eggsy.” Wood creaks. Arthur’s chair, Eggsy thinks. Harry’s gotten up. “Eggsy, wait.”

Five strides more to the door handle. The thundering of his heartbeat is all Eggsy can hear.

Man’s flight reflex kicked in lol

“Not saying anything without a lawyer,” Eggsy jokes weakly, and Harry sighs.

“Please stop talking.” Then Harry’s lips are on his, and Eggsy understands.Yay! This line will come back to bite everyone, starting with me. This I think was the first instance of a phrase as motif that I wrote, and it stays in because I like it.

#fic commentary #fic #writing #lys talks #kingsman #hartwin

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storiesagehumileation · 2 months

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The air was thick with tension and the buzz of hurried commuters when Steve's voice cut through the station like a serrated knife, raw and jagged. "Why is the train fucking late?" he bellowed, his face contorting into a visage of pure ire, veins pulsing at his temples like caged things desperate to break free.

"Fuck you!" The words erupted from him, each syllable laced with venom, as he glared at the train conductor who stood, a hapless target for Steve's unbridled wrath.

He was a grown man, an adult in the full stride of life, yet here he was, throwing a tantrum that would have shamed a toddler denied candy. His hands were balled into fists, the knuckles white as if straining against the skin. His chest heaved with each breath, the rise and fall like the tides of an angry sea, threatening to drown reason and decorum in their depths.

Around him, the faces of passersby morphed into galleries of judgment. Eyes wide in shock or narrowed in disdain bore witness to his meltdown. Whispers snaked through the crowd, a chorus of disdain that seemed to chant 'look at the man-child losing control.'

There was a momentary flicker in Steve's eyes, a spark of realization of how he must look—how out of place his rage was in the organized chaos of the station. A suit-clad businessman cast him a look of contempt before ushering his children away, the protective gesture saying all that needed to be said: This is not how a man behaves.

A group of teenagers snickered, their laughter a stinging slap to his already inflamed pride. They mimicked his stance, puffing up their chests and screaming mockingly into the void, "Why is the train late? Waaah!"

Steve's anger boiled over, but beneath it, a searing shame began to simmer. He could feel the heat of embarrassment coloring his cheeks a bright scarlet, the hue of humiliation that no amount of anger could mask. He had become the spectacle, the center of a circus he hadn't intended to perform in, and the audience found him wanting.

"Time to grow up, buddy," someone called out, the humor in the voice a stark contrast to the thunderous pounding of Steve's heart.

"Get a grip, man," another muttered, shaking his head as he sidestepped the fury that radiated off Steve like waves of heat from a fire gone wild.

The clamor of the station seemed to amplify around him, the sounds of life moving on without him, indifferent to his indignation. In this moment, as the world watched and judged, Steve felt smaller than he ever had—a man reduced to the raw, exposed nerve of his own unchecked emotions.

Steve, still seething with rage, barely noticed the figure approaching him until she was standing just a breath away. The young nursery teacher had an air of serenity about her that clashed violently with the tempest of his fury. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft and lilting, like a lullaby meant to soothe a fractious child.

"Deep breaths now," she said, her words gentle and tinged with a playful note. "We all get a bit upset sometimes, but this is no way to solve anything, is it?"

He turned to face her, his anger a livewire sparking dangerously close to her calm. But she didn't flinch, only continued in that same tender cadence, as if she were addressing her classroom of toddlers instead of a grown man.

"Let's try to play nicely, shall we? Or perhaps you'd prefer to have a little reflection time to think things over?"

The suggestion, delivered with such earnest concern, was absurd. Steve could feel the prickling sensation of being made a fool, the infantilization by her words more humiliating than the laughter of the onlookers. His hands clenched into fists at his sides; he knew he should walk away, ignore her, but her presence grated on him like sandpaper on raw skin.

"Fuck off," Steve spat out, the harshness of his own voice surprising even him.

Unruffled, the nursery teacher reached for his hand, her grip firm yet not unkind. "Come on then," she said as if coaxing him forward was the most natural thing in the world.

Steve jerked his arm away, but she was persistent, guiding him toward an empty corner of the train station with an insistence that belied her diminutive stature. He felt eyes on him, burning holes into his back as he tried to resist, to assert his autonomy, but it was as though she wielded a force beyond physical strength.

In a desperate bid to reclaim some shred of dignity, Steve swung at her, a wild, misdirected attempt to break free. His fist cut through nothing but air, and his momentum sent him stumbling backward, landing unceremoniously on his bottom. The impact jolted through him, bringing a fresh wave of shame.

Laughter bubbled up from her throat, light and mocking, as she reached down—not to help him up, but to grasp his ear, tugging him to face the corner. It was the ultimate disgrace, being manhandled like a recalcitrant schoolboy, forced into a dunce's cap of invisible scorn.

"Time to think about how we behave in public," she chided, her voice still infuriatingly serene.

Steve stood there, cheeks aflame, the rough texture of the wall before him a stark reminder of his situation. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the snickers and whispers of the bystanders. The indignity of it all—an adult male, treated with such condescension, rebuked and corralled—settled over him like a shroud.

And so, in the bustling train station, amidst the flow of life that paid him no heed, Steve tasted the acrid tang of humility, served to him by the gentle hands of a nursery teacher who had reduced him to nothing more than a chastened, red-faced child.

Steve's face was a portrait of fury as he made to escape the corner, but she was upon him in an instant, her grip firm and unyielding. Her voice, a gentle stream over smooth stones, issued a stark warning that pierced the cacophony of the train station.

"Steve," she said, her tone steady yet potent enough to halt his retreat. "If you walk away again, I will pull down your pants and give you a red bottom right here in front of everyone."

The crowd, sensing another act in this bizarre drama, circled tighter, their giggles and murmurs rising like the tide. Steve's blood boiled at the sound, his pride stung by the buzz of their amusement.

In a surge of defiance, Steve spun around, his hand shoving against her with all his might. But she was immovable – a fixture as solid as the earth itself. A ripple of shock traveled through the onlookers as she hoisted his grown frame across her knee with a fluid grace that belied her strength.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Steve's voice cracked, strained with panic, but his pleas were swallowed by a volley of smacks that resounded through the open space. Each slap was a brand, searing his flesh and his dignity alike. Tears welled in his eyes, drops of saline betrayal that streaked his cheeks.

After what felt like an eternity, she stood him up, his bare skin exposed to the chill air and the burning gaze of countless eyes. He was bent over, the posture reminiscent of a child awaiting a caretaker's cleansing touch, stillness enforced upon him as she continued her stern ministrations. Smack after smack painted his backside a deeper shade of scarlet, each one a punctuation mark in this public lesson of humility.

When it was over, she turned him toward the corner once more, his snivels echoing off the walls. "Stay," she instructed, her smile a curve of irony that did not reach her eyes.

Steve complied, every fiber of his being vibrating with the desperate need to cover his shame. The laughter and pointing felt like daggers, prodding at his exposed vulnerability. His punishment became a spectacle, a living tableau of disgrace for twenty excruciating minutes.

Finally allowed to turn, his apology was a barely audible garble, the words dissolving under the weight of his humiliation. Forced to embrace his disciplinarian, his arms wrapped around her mechanically, the gesture devoid of any real warmth or appreciation.

As he shakily attempted to flee the scene of his degradation, her hand met his arm, a soft but firm reminder that his ordeal was not yet complete.

Steve's quivering hand reached for the exit, but her voice halted him, soft yet laced with an unyielding authority. "Not so fast, sweetie," she cooed, and Steve's already flushed face deepened in hue. "You will come with me on the train, where you will sit on a booster seat like a toddler and you will behave yourself." She tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with a strange blend of sternness and mockery. "I will cut you some apples and make you some milk, and that will be your treat for the journey."

His mouth opened, but no words came out—only a pathetic whimper that seemed to solidify his infantilization. The mention of his shorts and boxers—or rather, the continued absence thereof—had him glance down at his exposed self, the cool air wafting over his skin as if to remind him of his bare state. "As for your shorts and boxers, they will stay off; I have something else for you."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as she produced the object of his impending doom: a diaper, stark white and crinkly. With a firm grip, she escorted him back into full view of the spectators. He could feel their eyes upon him, a scorching gaze that seemed to sear his very soul. Red-faced and diminished beyond measure, Steve surrendered to the nursery teacher's hands, which adeptly diapered him amidst his feeble protests.

Waddling onto the train, every step was an agony of chafing humiliation, the diaper a grotesque symbol of his total capitulation. Once seated, he was perched atop the booster seat, his elevated position ensuring no one would miss the spectacle. The young woman, now his relentless guardian, unscrewed the cap of a baby bottle filled with milk, handing it to him with maternal efficiency. Steve, broken and devoid of any semblance of adult dignity, accepted it, his fingers trembling as he brought the teat to his lips.

"Good boy," she praised, slicing apples with meticulous care as he suckled, each gulp a further descent into his forced regression. She turned on the iPad, and the innocent jingle of Peppa Pig filled the air, incongruous against the backdrop of his internal torment. Steve's eyes, rimmed red with tears, flickered across the screen, the animated porcine family a mocking mirror to his current predicament.

The other passengers whispered and snickered, their phones held aloft to capture the moment. Steve could do nothing but sit there, raised up high for all to see, as the nursery rhymes played on and his cheeks glistened with the evidence of his breakdown

#discipline #diaper domination #embarrasment #humiliation captions #stories #humilliation #stories in english #stripped

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lazysublimeengineer · 1 year

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Betrothed - Chapter 7

Summary: “Marry me Isagi.” Reo’s calm and collected voice snapped out Isagi’s any wandering thoughts and he faced him harshly.

The impact was much like a ball landed unexpectedly on an enemy’s territory out in the field.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He bit out, demanding answers from him.

Reo remained unperturbed and unruffled by his outburst which made Isagi more irritated with him.

“It’s just like what I said Isagi. Marry me. Or do you have any other options in mind? For sure, your analytical mind can catch up with me, right? Or do I need to spell it out for you?” Reo replied with an arched brow but his mauve orbs held a glint of amusement at the other’s expressions, taking in delight of the multitude of expressions that flitted across the male’s face in just a few seconds.

- Or a Reosagi marriage of convenience AU that no one asked for but I still deliver: Isagi loses on the match and his career is on the line until Reo swoops in with an offer that could still save him and his future.

Characters: Isagi Y. & Reo M.

Link for the 6th chapter:

The loud thunderclap rang outside the hotel when Isagi went out of the bathroom after taking a quick bath.

‘So much for enjoying the beach today.’ Isagi thought with a small sigh leaving his lips as he watched through the windows and see the heavy rainfall outside that he can’t practically see the surroundings out there.

He inwardly hoped that the rain would stop soon and the sun would come out the next day as he didn’t want to be cooped up inside the hotel doing nothing when all he wanted to do was take the opportunity to relax and bask under the sun while watching the beautiful interior of the sea in front of him.

And…

He didn’t want to be cooped up inside with Reo as well.

Isagi tried to erase those earlier events from his mind. But it’s like a teasing thought inside his head that appeared out of nowhere in the periphery of his consciousness randomly.

Fuck.

He needed to get a grip on himself.

So, what if Reo kissed him earlier? It wasn’t like his first kiss with him anyway. They kissed in front of the goddam church during their wedding so he shouldn’t act like a flustered teen damn it!

‘Stop being a pathetic mess Isagi and get ahold of yourself.’ His mind scoffed at him inwardly and he was tempted to shut down all the scathing remarks inside his head.

“You can do this Isagi. Just act natural and never let make a fool of yourself out there.” Isagi muttered to himself as he dried his damp hair with the towel on his hand and made sure that the other towel was tied firmly on his waist as he walked towards their bedroom to search for some clothes inside their closet.

Just as he was about to enter the room, he stopped midway and quickly leaned against the wall to hide his presence as he heard the familiar voice of Reo talking over the phone.

He stole a surreptitious glance towards his direction and he seemed to be engrossed in whoever he was speaking at the other end of the line.

“When did you come back in Japan?”

He heard Reo’s voice asking on the phone but he couldn’t decipher the exact look that the other was sporting since his back was turned and he was facing the windows. But he can detect the tiniest edge around his voice despite his tone being deceptively casual and lax.

In those several weeks that Isagi accompanied Reo in promoting their bogus relationship to the world, he picked up on the small mannerisms that the young heir seemed to possess despite showing his default outward persona of being charming and personable to the press and people.

The slight curve of his upper lip if he found something displeasing in front of him or how his brows spoke volumes in skepticism and askance whenever he heard or seen something that he seemed doubtful of. Moreover, there’s the invisible glimmer of sharp acerbity between his words hidden beneath his usual graceful act diplomacy amongst the upper stratum of the social crowd.

Reo had possessed this useful skill of hiding his expressions that shouldn’t be seen on the dazzling clicks of the cameras from the paparazzi and the boisterous crowd. But for Isagi and his sharp eyes, he can see right through him sometimes when he paid his full attention on him.

‘Just who was he talking into?’ Isagi thought to himself. His curiosity grew inside of him.

As if his silent thoughts were heard by fate, Reo’s next words made his eyes grew wide and blinked owlishly in surprise and disbelief.

“If you insist to meet up with me Nagi then fine… I’ll check my calendar and get in touch with you once I’m back in Japan.”

What? He still had ties with Reo? However, judging from Reo’s words it seemed that it will be the first time that the two will meet up once again since it was implied that they’d get in touch with each other in person after several years had passed between the two of them.

A strange feeling bloomed inside of him at that thought. It was a nasty feeling that Isagi couldn’t name of but decided to ignore for now for the sake of his sanity. So, what if Reo and Nagi will meet up once again? It shouldn’t even surprise him considering that the two had a history of being the closest friends together in Blue Lock even if…

…they had a bit of a fallout during the second selection.

If he remembered correctly, they’ve grown closer again when they’re on the same team together back in Manshine City before Reo’s early retirement in the soccer industry.

“I’m sort of busy here now Nagi so just send me a message beforehand if you want to call.”

Reo’s voice cut off Isagi’s wandering thoughts and brought him back to the present situation. His brows furrowed when he heard the end call button on Reo’s phone.

“I can see your shadow you know Isagi? If you wanted to know what Nagi and I talk over the phone, you could’ve sat here beside me.” Reo’s cool voice directed at him.

Isagi cursed inwardly within himself as he failed to notice that his shadow was illuminated by the fireplace in the living room which would’ve caught Reo’s attention.

He didn’t have any choice but to come clean and show himself in front of him.

“First of all, I’m not interested. Second, I don’t want to appear disrespectful by just barging in the room when you’re talking with someone very dear and important to you when I just wanted to get some clothes on the closet.” Isagi shot back sardonically as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Rest assured Isagi-kun that you’re not interrupting anything important. Feel free to get in here to search for your precious clothes. I don’t want to be the cause of any colds that might fall into you seeing that you’re still undress in this cold weather.” Reo replied lightly as his eyes raked over Isagi’s form which was still damp and glistening from the shower and he was only scantily clad in a towel.

Isagi quickly turned away upon hearing his words but he could feel the mortification burning his cheeks. “Asshole.” He ground out as he marched towards the closet and opened it forcefully to search for his clothes.

Isagi could hear his slight snickers from the background which infuriated him more but he decided to willfully ignore it and took out some of his fresh clothes from the closet.

“My bad. I thought you might be interested in what I have to say about the matter. But anyway, it’s not nice to leave your husband all alone in that garden earlier under the heavy rainfall. It’s a good thing that some staff ushered me back here at the hotel and I was able to have a relaxing warm bath earlier.” Reo taunted.

“Not my fault that you’re a slowpoke my dear husband.” Isagi retorted, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he turned around and arched a brow. “What are you still standing there for? I’m gonna get dress and I’m not gonna do a live show in front of you.” He added testily.

“Oh? Being modest now Isagi-kun?” Reo asked with a certain lilt to his voice. “Don’t you think it’s too late for that now seeing that most of us boys shower together in one bathroom stall during our Blue lock days so there’s nothing spectacular about your body that you should hide from me since I probably have seen it all.” He added casually.

“I don’t care you bastard. Just get out of here for awhile while I change clothes for fuck’s sake!” Isagi replied hotly, he could feel his face heating up once again at the other’s implications but refused to back down and glared sharply at him.

Reo raised up his arms placatingly, backing away laughingly. “Okay, okay. Relax Isagi-kun. I don’t bite. Consider yourself a lucky lad since out bet was hold off due to the bad weather. But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t let you get away with that kind of behavior if you lost to me and become my slave for a week.” He shot back with a sharp yet playful grin on his face before he left their bedroom and closed the door behind him.

“You fucking—.” Isagi stopped midway and let out an exasperated breath. There’s no use in getting worked up over like that.

‘The bastard’s hobby is to push my damn buttons most of the time.’ Isagi grumbled to himself as he put on his shirt, forgetting the phone conversation he witnessed between Reo and Nagi earlier.

However, as he was in the middle of putting on his pants and shirt now, the lights went out and the room was now enveloped in brilliant darkness.

Fuck.

A blackout ensued in the middle of the heavy rainfall.

Nagi stared at the phone in his hands after his call ended with Reo.

He was a bit surprise to get his number easily through his secretary.

It only meant that Reo didn’t mention their last fallout before they went on their separate ways with Reo retiring early to take over their family business and him travelling in other parts of Europe to continue his lucrative career in soccer.

But would he really have called that a fallout when neither of them had spoken to each other back then?

There was different about him…

…Nagi couldn’t pinpoint exactly what but he knew that something in Reo had changed.

And he couldn’t pinpoint exactly on what it was.

The way the other spoke to him over the phone.

He didn’t sound too excited nor angry at him. All he could hear was his distinct graceful politeness.

The tone he always used when speaking to the crowd that doesn’t interest him but spoken with that practiced alacrity and diplomacy.

Nagi didn’t know why but it brought a certain feeling of dispiritedness that he couldn’t feign an indifference about.

For an unknown reason to him, there’s a wall now between the two of them and he couldn’t reach Reo now despite speaking to him earlier over the phone.

Nevertheless, he didn’t want the despondency and moroseness to won over him and still held a sliver of hope to be able to get in touch with his friend once he gets back to Japan.

After his honeymoon with Isagi as to what the latest news about him that’s now circulating online.

He ignored blatantly the pang that hit right through him at that thought and just focus on the game now in his phone.

Nagi didn’t have the luxury nor the interest to pay attention to any irrational feelings that caused confoundment and weariness within him anyway.

Silence blanketed around them like a thick fog.

Nothing can be seen nor heard except for the heavy rainfall outside and the occasional lightning flash that illuminated through the windows.

“Isagi? Where are you? I already found a flashlight. I’ve contacted the staff and they mentioned that within a few minutes the power generator will—.”

He stopped midway as he found Isagi on the ground with his back leaning on one of the legs in the couch and hugging his knees for support.

Half of his face was buried on his knees with only his eyes being seen and the indigo hues of his irises sparkled against the beaming light of the device.

Reo blinked a few times before he approached him slowly. “Isagi? Are you okay?” He crouched near him and inspected him in silence. For a moment, there was a flash of something akin to concern before it’s gone in a blink of an eye.

“Huh? Me? Of course, I am.” Isagi answered as he withdrew his arms from his knees and faced him fully with a simple yet awkward smile.

Reo watched him quietly for a few seconds before he sighed and sat down on the ground and leaned his back on the wall. “Sorry about this Isagi. Even if this is just a sham of a honeymoon to show this to the world, I still do want you to enjoy yourself in here. I didn’t account that there can be an inconvenient situation like this.” He replied stately.

Something in his voice caught Isagi’s attention and for an unknown moment, he briefly thought that he didn’t want Reo to think that it was his fault that they’re in this kind of situation regardless of if sometimes the other made his hackles rose.

“Hmm? Why are you apologizing? Some things are beyond our control like the bad weather and the loss of electricity. Also, I’m still grateful that you brought me here in Hawaii for our fake honeymoon. I enjoyed the beach, scenery, activities, and the food altogether.” Isagi didn’t mention about their shared kiss in the rain because it was an accident and in the heat of the moment even if some part of him would gladly say otherwise.

It made Reo chuckle lightly. “Forgive me. Some bad habits are still ingrained within me. I was trained by my parents to be a great host to our guests as part of my duties as their only heir. So, if there is a minor inconvenience that arises in the household that affects our guests, the initial way to placate them is to apologize to lessen the severity of the situation.” He replied wryly.

“Well, I’m not just a guest to you Reo. I’m your husband. Even if it’s just a fake one. So don’t sweat about the small stuff.” Isagi replied casually.

His words made Reo paused and stared at him in silence before a warm smile bloomed around his face which made Isagi’s heart jumped wildly inside his chest. He refrained himself from having a blush spreading around his cheeks but he could feel the tips of his ears taking on some pinkish hues.

Why the fuck would Reo smiled at him like that? Like he’s the only person who matters to him the most?

Didn’t Reo realized that when he’s doing things like that it makes it hard for him to compartmentalize on what’s real and what’s not in their bogus romantic arrangement?

“I guess you’re right Isagi. You’re really low maintenance outside of soccer so that’s why people didn’t find it hard to flock towards you.” Reo replied in slight amusement.

It cut off Isagi’s derailing thoughts and brought him back to the present.

“I’m just a reasonable person who doesn’t like making a big deal out of anything that doesn’t even need to.” He shrugged as he looked away and focused his gaze on the heavy rainfall outside the windows.

Damn. Staring at Reo for a long period of time wasn’t good for his heart sometimes.

Silence fell between the two of them again but it wasn’t heavy nor uncomfortable as it used to be earlier. It seemed like they’re both ensconced in their own thoughts.

“Say, Isagi, out of curiosity what do you like to do outside of soccer?” Reo asked after a while. It’s a benign question born out of sheer curiousness about the prodigious striker.

Isagi blinked owlishly at him on the random question thrown at him before he appeared to think for a moment.

“I guess I like to read books… I mean I used to not do that often when I was younger because I just mostly liked P.E. and Art subjects back then… but I guess during our short break at Blue Lock, I was influenced by Chigiri and his love for history and literature. I used to hang out with them. Chigiri, Bachira, Kunigami… But there’s one time that we hang out at Chigiri’s house and his room was filled with numerous books in several bookshelves. Apparently, he had a thing for history subject and classic English Lit during high school so I got curious and found out that his choice of books was good. I remember reading The Ninny by Anton Chekhov and The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky by Stephen Crane. There just both short stories but it sticks with you as a reader I guess…” He stopped midway and shot him an apologetic smile.

“Ah, sorry. I tended to ramble a bit when it came to the things that I like and passionate about.” He added sheepishly.

Reo shook his head faintly in response. “No. That’s fine Isagi. I knew you’ve got that thing with you when soccer and tactics on the field are the topic. But it’s a pleasant surprise to see and hear that in other facets in your life as well such as your hobbies. I find it good that you’re well read on literature itself. And yeah, Chigiri is quite fond of reading books such as the classical ones. I’ve seen him reading The Collected Poems of Wordsworth back then after our practice, completely engrossed with the book.” He smiled fondly at the memory.

Isagi glanced at him before turning his attention back to the windows and stared at the rain. He remained quiet and still but he was almost deafened at the thunderous beat of his heart inside his chest.

For some unknown reason, seeing the genuine smile and fond look on Reo’s face made something ripple inside of him and he could feel his cheeks heating up at the vision alone.

He needed to get a fucking grip on himself damn it.

“We’re you also fond of those kinds of books?” Isagi found himself asking before he could stop himself. He inwardly reasoned that it’s for the conversation to keep going and nothing else.

“Not really. But it’s a good way to pass up time and if you don’t want to think of anything else now. Ever since I was a kid, I was always reminded to focus on things and read books that are related to my studies so it’s mostly about business and economics textbooks and hardbound copies of financial investment and stock markets.” Reo replied with a wry smile on his face.

“However, I certainly enjoy reading The Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.” He added idly.

His last words caught Isagi by surprise and soon found himself turning his attention back to Reo. “Oh? So, you’ve read those too?”

“Well, yes since they were recommended by Chigiri back then.”

And soon they both found themselves chatting on the topic away animatedly until the lights went back and put them back in the reality.

“Oh… The lights are back.” Isagi commented.

“Yeah…” Reo agreed quietly before standing up and offering his hand to the other.

Isagi accepted his hand and stood up carefully.

Neither of them knew what to say with the other before they spoke in unison to break the silence.

“Isagi—.”

Hey Reo—.”

They both stopped midsentence and stared at each other in awkward silence before Reo spoke again.

“You go first.” He offered.

“Well, you’re the one who talked first earlier so I wouldn’t mind if you go ahead.” Isagi replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well, I just want to say that since the lights were on again, we can probably go back to what we’re supposed to do earlier. And maybe I’ll be seeing you later at dinner…?” Reo asked tentatively.

“Of course. We don’t want to give the others funny ideas by not showing up at the hotel diner later this night.” Isagi replied.

Reo looked like he wanted to say something else before he stopped himself and just settled with a simple smile and a nod. “See you later tonight then, my dear husband.” He replied lightly and turned around and left before Isagi could shoot back with a smart, aleck remark.

Isagi could only stare at his retreating figure with wide eyes before a faint blush dusted across his cheeks and turned away.

It’s the first time that they had a normal yet engaging conversation with one another.

And unbeknownst to him, a small smile inched across his lips.

#blue lock #fanfiction #reosagi #chapter 7 #angst #drama #enemies to lovers #eventual smut #marriage of convenience #spoilers #isagi yoichi #reo mikage #rois

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dustedmagazine · 1 year

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Maxine Funke — River Said (Disciples)

River Said by maxine funke

Maxine Funke has been making hushed and lovely songs with guitar and voice for more than a decade. Her songs are the dictionary definition of “less is more.” She strips elusive imagery to pencil-drawn simplicity. A whisper carries soft melodies over translucent lattices of acoustic picking, so that both voice and guitar nestle gently in your ear. And yet these songs are far from slight or ephemeral. They grow gnarly roots in your subconscious slyly and before you’ve really noticed it. Said Doug Mosurock in Dusted of the 2012 disc, Felt, “This is one of those records you’ll have a hard time shaking.”

This latest missive delivers the soft but faintly disturbing songs you’ve come to expect from Funke on one side and some intriguing long-form instrumental play on the other. The two halves of River Said are different but complementary, both water-pure reflections of the natural world (and an adjacent spiritual world), but in different timbres.

The song structured side starts with “Willow White,” a murmured beauty of soft intimations and fluid picking, a serene and bucolic piece with ghosts in the shadows. “A trifle early is the spring/whisper willow whispering,” Funke intones in lucid simplicity, conjuring a riverbank world in sunshine. Yet there are darker, fairy tale elements hovering in the margins, sleepwalkers and nightmare wakers and power lines droning overhead like a beast. Beauty coexists with unsettling archetypes. Later, “River Said,” unleashes eddies and swirls of guitar sound that seem to mimic the motion of water running downhill. An elliptical sketch of a picnic takes shape. Bottles are uncorked, beer is sipped, feet are dabbled in the stream. There is something so clear and simple about the song, and yet it slips in and out of focus.

These are solitary songs, and Funke sings and performs them by herself. “Call on You,” adds an overdubbed vocal counterpart, Funke answering Funke in a delicately gorgeous call and response, “I’m gonna call,” she trills, and then, fainter, like a mountain echo, comes the reply, “Call you.” The beauty of the songs comes in their purity and spareness, yet just this once, you see how ornamentation could fill them out and expand them.

Funke interspersed some instrumental intervals into Silk, layering keyboards and electronics and field recordings in abstract squiggles between verse-chorus songs. Here she explores similar un-song-like textures in two long tracks at the end of the album. You can almost smell the salt air in “Long Beach,” an extended meditation on surf and birdsong that Funke embellishes with subtle clicks and rattles of percussion and long crystalline organ tones that roll in and recede like the waves. “Oblivion” natters and scrapes with bowed tones, a cello apparently, but mussed and scratched to illegibility. Slowly a rhythm emerges in quick, overlapping swipes, and birds twitter, en masse, in the rafters. Funke adds some vocals in the second half of the cut, first intoning, then singing fragile lines about obsidian and sea lions. It is quite beautiful, in a shadowy, dream-haunted way, though you can never really get a firm grip on what it signifies.

Both the songs and the noise compositions have their merits—though I prefer the songs—and both distill natural energies into unruffled reflecting pools of sound. Both will calm you down, but also, if you let them, disturb you. These are gorgeous landscapes with sketched in trolls and demons in the margins, hard to see but showing their teeth.

Jennifer Kelly

#maxine funke #river said #disciples #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #acoustic guitar #folk #songwriter #new zealand #noise #field recordings

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candidapple · 2 years

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I pulled 200 times on Halloween jade's banner and got 2 dupe Floyds, 1 dupe Jack, and cater as my 200th pity 💀 I guess jade's brother just loves me more 😔

he's certainly got nerve enough for savanaclaw stringing you along like this, i'll give him that much. it would just serve him right, wouldn't it, if you dropped his fishy ass for the brother who doesn't play hard to get.

unlike jade, floyd wouldn't keep you in suspense by refusing to make his regard for you explicitly known; compared to his oblique twin's cryptic overtures, floyd's frankness is refreshing as a cool sea breeze, and when he likes you, he'll say so! you want a hug or a kiss? you needn't fear even the gentlest of mockery; his arms are already open to squeeze you tight! floyd isn't the type to beat around the bush (or should i say sea anemone?), and he's nothing if not demonstrative.

and if jade, ever unruffled, feels even the slightest deep-down twinge of jealousy at the sight of you and his twin getting along so, ah, swimmingly? *distant booing* well, that's his own fault, isn't it? maybe next time he should put up or shut up!

#sorry he didn't come home beeb :( hope this makes you feel a teensy bit better ❤️#come into floyd's arms!!#!candid replies

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strangelittlenights · 1 year

Text

Three

Castille rose from his seat and came around the table slowly. I growled and snarled as I attempted to wriggle free of the guards. He was calm as he approached me; none of my attempts to be intimidating fazed him. His eyes matched his posture, clear and focused. I cowered a little as he came to stand in front of me. His hand grazed my chest, following a scar I didn't know that I had. “Stixpus,” he began. His tone sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes tightly as I waited for him to continue. “Did he give you these scars?” My heart raced as Castille followed the scar up to the big gash that marred my face. “ Stixpus,” I cringed at the worry that laced his voice. “Answer me please,” he pleaded as he grew closer to examine my face. A wheeze left my lips as I turned away from him.

“Guards. some space please,” Castille commanded. Their grip loosened just enough for me to slump into the chair. I could feel Dendra attempting to unruffle the few adult feathers that I had. Trying my best to steel myself, I turned my focus to her efforts. The table creaked as Castille took a seat on it just in front of me. His silence as he watched the interaction between us made me even more nervous than I already was. As Dendra swept a stray strand of hair behind my ear, he began again. “How old are you, Stixpus?” The lightness of his tone, caused me to look up at him. It was hard to read his expression; I couldn't tell what his aim was by asking me all these pointless questions. “Seventeen,” I croaked out as I readjusted in my seat. “Your temperament doesn't favor any of the owlkin I’ve ever met. Were you raised in Owl Country?” I watched him as his eyes followed Dendra; she had made herself busy untangling the knots in my hair. “No,” I replied firmly, drawing his attention back to me. “I was raised near Prosperita.”

“Prosperita?” He questioned as he migrated from his seat on the table to the one closest to me. “Were you orphaned or something?” he blurted as he perched himself at the edge of the seat. The shuffling of the guards around us made Castille blush before he cleared his throat. “Umm, what I meant to ask,” he chuckled nervously as he swept stray pieces of his fringe out of his face, “was why you grew up in Prosperita. It's practically on the other end of the Woodlands.” I looked at him incredulously. “I lived there because…that’s where my parents lived?” I said with uncertainty. This was met with a sea of laughter from the guards. Castille’s brown face turned rosy as the guards continued to laugh. As everyone began to settle down, Castille attempted to speak again. His hand rubbed his forehead as he searched for the words to say. “You’re the second person to leave me speechless, Stixy. I’ve never been so discombobulated in my life.” A guard, still obviously tickled by the whole interaction, stepped in. “I think,” he started before clearing his throat to keep from laughing, “what he’s trynna ask ya is why owls ‘ere living in Nymph Country.” A quick nod from Castille affirmed his question. A slight silence swept over us as I tried to determine the best way to answer him. “B-both of my parents aren't owlkin,” I attempted to say nonchalantly, “My mother was a Bryophyte nymph.”

Another silence swept over the group, this one, a lot more familiar than the last. I could feel the hesitation and judgment stifling the air. I casted my eyes toward Castille’s sandaled feet as the guards shuffled uncomfortably around me. If he had anything to say, I definitely didn't have the courage to look him in the face to receive it. With the reputation owlkin have built over the extent of my life, it's baffling that Castille and his people are so at ease around me. Why is he so trusting of me? For all he knows, I could be his worst nightmare.

Soft chirps from Dendra broke the silence among the group. She had made her way over to the table where fresh produce had been laid out. Shuffling from Castille’s direction made me tense. I reverted my gaze back to him; he was standing some ways away from the table, his eyes were locked on Dendra’s every move. “She’s quite the busy one isn't she,” Castille quipped as he continued to approach the table. My heart raced as his fingers dusted the top of her head gently. “Whatever it is you want from me, she ain’t a part of the deal,” I snapped, “If she’s all your after, you can cut me outta your stupid plan!” He withdrew his hand as he turned to face me squarely. “I have you know, Stixpus, I’m not in the business of taking hostages or collateral. Every person and woodfolk here I’ve freely given the resources to sustain and uplift themselves in this dying oligarchy of ours. I have no interest or ill intention in offering you those basic amenities.” He clicked his tongue as he scooped Dendra into his hands. Solemness cloaked his countenance as he watched her injured wings struggle to flutter. “Could you excuse us as well, my lady,” he spoke eloquently. Dendra hesitantly looked between us. “I assure you, I’ll take good care of your boy, “ he said coolly. With a final glance at me, she cautiously stepped into an awaiting guard’s hand. “Take her to the infirmary and ask Ms. Crissa to have a look at her,” he ordered as he crossed his legs and leaned against the table. He brushed his fringe out of his face as he took a deep sigh.

A long pause sat between us before Castille gestured for the remaining guards to leave as well. Though hesitant, they followed his orders without any objection. His back faced me as he watched the dining room clear. He hung his head as the door finally creaked close. A few sniffles rang through the now vacant room. I noticed how white his knuckles turned as he repeatedly clenched his fists. His breath quivered as he attempted to compose himself. His voice was frail as he began to speak again. “I wasn't very sincere when I asked you to work for me initially. I’d like to change my offer to you.” At this point, he had come to stand before me with his hands extended out. “It is imperative that you allow me to house you and your friend. I could never forgive myself if I allowed you to wander in a kingship that is completely against you. Your sheer existence poses more threats to our current society than you could ever comprehend, and I’d be eternally damned if I turned my back to you.” He grabbed my hands as he fell to his knees before me; he trembled as he placed his forehead against our entangled hands. I could feel my eyes begin to sting as I turned my head away from him. Why is he so tormented? He doesn't even know me. If I stayed here, I’d be nothing more than a cranberry stain on his white linen shirts, the downfall to all he’s ever worked for. Why is he kneeling for me? “It is no easy feat to ask a child so wounded to trust in the guidance of a stranger, but I beg of you to free your heart one more time. Your life and the freedom of our country depends on it.”

I closed my burning eyes wearily as I took in the evening sun trickling through the window. Castille’s hands began to tremble as he tried to maintain a steady embrace with my now laxing hands. His pleas were drowned out by my racing mind. With everything I’ve already gone through, I can’t take much more. I don’t want to take it anymore. I just wanna go back to how it was, living in our burrow hidden in unclaimed land. I want to lay on soft, moist soil and watch the sun peek through the trees. I want stillness, peace. I turned to look back at him; the sun had cloaked him in a graceful ambience. I’m so pathetic. I’ve gotta complete stranger cowering at my feet, begging to help me. He’s willing to put all that he has at stake to help a waste of space. Maybe I should convince him to turn me in. At least then I’ll be one less burden for his shoulders to bear.

A few tears trickled down my face as I mustered the strength to pull away from him. Castille rose to his feet and backed away from me slightly. “All I’m asking is that you give yourself one last chance, the chance to prove to this world that everyone has their place. Regardless of your ties to Ekcilius, you deserve the opportunity to know you're worth the kindness and respect this world offers,” he whispered, “so please, even if nothing else changes, let me at least show you some of the goodness life has to offer.” “Y-your offer is too mu-much for me to accept,” I choke out as I push away from my seat. I am doused in a wave of nausea as I try to compose myself. I limped past him, ashamed to meet his pleading gaze. I can’t be your king. I’m not worth your sympathies. “I’m s-sor-” Before I could finish, a wave of pain washed over me; it felt like my whole body had been squeezed in a case of pins. I could feel my knees buckling underneath me. All I could do was scream as I felt my entire body pulsate. Even though my eyes were wired shut, they stung as if I had been forced to stare at the sun all day. I couldn't hear anything outside of the rhythmic thumping in my head. AC-EHP -- AVE -- BEE-OME. CEP -- WAT -- COME. A small voice had made itself known among my internal struggles. It was foreign but unnervingly soothing to my current state; it sought me out with no intention of heeding to my tantrum. With each rasp of my breath it came to me clearer and more forcefully. YOU -- ACCEPT -- HAVE BECOME. A moment of calmness came over me before the message and its sender became clear to me. YOU MUST ACCEPT WHO YOU HAVE BECOME. My tender eyes fluttered open briefly before I slipped into darkness. The room once dusted in sunlight was now fully illuminated by the moon.

#Owlboy #first story #fantasy #stixpusevernia #feedback welcomed #OC

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